The Wiccamical Chaplet, a Selection of Original Poetry: Comprising Smaller Poems, Serious and Comic; Classical Trifles; Mock-heroics, Epigrams, Fragments, &c., &cGeorge Huddesford Leigh, Sotheby, 1804 - 225 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
Albe so trymm amorous ANTISTROPHE arms Bard Baron Hill Beauty beneath bliss blood-stain'd bloom bosom brave breast breath brow call'd Chafing-dishes charms Cleora cries dar'd dear DEATH Desenfans divine doth dulce domum E'en e'er Elegy English Poetry ev'ry fair fair isle fam'd fame fate fear flame fond gentle glory grace grave hallow'd hast hath head hear heart Heav'n holie Modher honour hour Jack Jack Ketch kiss LADY life's Lord lov'd Love's Lyre Maid mortal Muse ne'er nought numbers o'er Oxford patriot peace PEPPER-BOX plain Poet pow'r Rich Rowland rude sacred shade shew sigh sing smiling soch vanitee soft SONG SONNET sorrows soul Spleen Staie storm strain sung sweet sword tears tell thee thie thine Thomas Warton thou thro Twas University of Oxford Verse Virtue voice WARTON ween Yattendon youth δε
Pasajes populares
Página 75 - But if, like me, he knew how fruitless all The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide, The world his country, and his God his guide.
Página 97 - That cloth'd himself in clay, Enter'd the iron gates of death, And tore the bars away. 2 Death is no more the king of dread Since our Immanuel rose, He took the tyrant's sting away, And spoil'd our hellish foes. 3 See how the Conqueror mounts aloft, And to his Father flies, With scars of honour in his flesh, And triumph in his eyes. 4 There our exalted Saviour reigns...
Página 207 - Queen of every moving measure, Sweetest source of purest pleasure, Music ! why thy powers employ Only for the sons of joy ? Only for the smiling guests At natal or at nuptial feasts ? Rather thy lenient numbers pour On those whom secret griefs devour : Bid be still the throbbing hearts Of those whom death or absence parts; And with some softly- whispered air Smooth the brow of dumb despair*".
Página 11 - He bares his breast, invites th' impending steel, Smiles at the hand that deals the fatal blow, Nor heaves one sigh for all he leaves below. Nor yet doth Glory, though her port be bold, Her aspect radiant, and her tresses gold, Guide through the walks of death alone her car, Attendant only on the din of war ; She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace, Or olive shades of philosophic ease, More pleas'd on Isis' silent marge to roam, Than bear in pomp the spoil of battles home.
Página 98 - For he was of that noble trade, That demi-gods and heroes made, Slaughter, and knocking on the head, The trade to which they all were bred ; And is, like others, glorious when 'Tis great and large, but base if mean.
Página 11 - Dear is the brother, sister, husband, wife ; Dear all the charities of social life : Nor wants firm friendship holy wreaths to bind In mutual sympathy the faithful mind : But not th' endearing springs that fondly move To filial duty, or parental love ; Not all the ties that kindred bosoms bind, Nor all in friendship's holy wreaths entwin'd, Are half so dear, so potent to...
Página 104 - tis all for thee ; Hast thou a wish ? — 'tis all for me ; So soft our moments move, That angels look with ardent gaze, Well pleased to see our happy days, And bid us live — and love.
Página 8 - Roll through your faithful sons in nobler flood, Than late, when George bade gird on ev'ry thigh The myrtle-braided sword of Liberty a ? Say, when the high-born Druid's magic strain Rous'd, on old Mona's top, a female train To madness, and with more than mortal rage Bade them, like furies, in the fight engage ; Frantic when each unbound her bristling hair, And shook a flaming torch, and yell'd in wild despair ; Or when...
Página 75 - ON these white cliffs, that calm above the flood Uplift their shadowing heads, and, at their feet, Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat, Sure many a lonely wanderer has stood ; And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear, And o'er the distant billows the still eve...
Página 73 - What though no more he teach thy shades to mourn The hapless chances that to love belong, As erst when, drooping o'er her turf forlorn, He charmed wild echo with his plaintive song?