The British Poets: Including Translations ...

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C. Whittingham, 1822

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Page 155 - If this pale rose offend your sight, It in your bosom wear, 'Twill blush to find itself less white, And turn Lancastrian there.
Page 33 - Their pointed bristles stare, or 'mong the tufts Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant Curious they crop, sick, Spiritless, forlorn. These inauspicious days, on other cares Employ thy precious hours ; th' improving friend With open arms embrace, and from his lips Glean science, season'd with good-natur'd wit.
Page 62 - ... harmonious din, the soldier deems The battle kindling, and the statesman grave Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex, In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy, And pleasure in excess, sparkling exult On every brow, and revel unrestrain'd.
Page 36 - No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord aw'd : But courteous now he levels every fence, Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud, Charm'd with the rattling thunder of the field.
Page 52 - Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our hearts Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives From wood to wood, through every dark recess The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
Page 74 - Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing, Nor stoops so low ; of these each groom can tell The proper remedy. But O ! what care ! What prudence can prevent madness, the worst Of maladies ? Terrific pest ! that blasts The huntsman's hopes, and desolation spreads Thro' all th' unpeopled kennel unrestrain'd. More fatal than th' envenom'd viper's bite ; Or that Apulian spider's pois'nous sting, Heal'd by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
Page 51 - And hurry through the woods; with hasty step Rustling, and full of hope ; now driven on heaps They push, they strive ; while from his kennel sneaks The conscious villain. See ! he skulks along, Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals Purloin'd.
Page 25 - What though the gripe severe Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung, Afflict my shatter'd frame, undaunted still, Fix'd as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts Of angry Jove ; though blasted, yet unfallen ; Still can my soul in Fancy's mirror view Deeds glorious once, recall the joyous scene In all its splendours...
Page 6 - William. scious of having (at least in one production) generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches that are low in every sense ; to be forced to drink himself into pains of the body, in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery.
Page 24 - In thee alone, fair land of liberty ! Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed As yet unrivall'd ; while in other climes Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race.

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