The beauties of the British poets, with intr. observations by G. Croly

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George Croly
1828
 

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Seite 104 - to rest, By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. ODE TO EVENING. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine
Seite 29 - returns,—puzzles the will; And makes us rather bear the ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of! Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment,
Seite 332 - him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still would'st thou
Seite 159 - is laid aside, His lyart hafiets wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And, 'Let us worship God!' he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise, They tune their hearts, by
Seite 304 - quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting-, fell. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings,
Seite 49 - and of trophies hung, In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of forests and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus night oft see me in thy pale career, Till silver-suited morn appear; Not trickt and frounced as she was wont, With the Attic boy to hunt, But
Seite 329 - day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Among the river sallows, borne aloft Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
Seite 61 - I fondly ask : but Patience, to prevent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent That murmur, soon replies,
Seite 162 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure, Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! its no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet; Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' speckled breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
Seite 28 - There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me to mine enemies. DEATH. To be,

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