Oeuvres completes de M. J. Chenier: precedees de notices historiques, par M. Arnault, Band 3

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Seite 206 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Seite 208 - The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne : — Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 200 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Seite 204 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Seite 202 - Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Seite 206 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Seite 208 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 208 - Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God.
Seite 202 - ... full many a gem of purest ray serene the dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear : full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Seite 200 - Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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