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Seite 147 - tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Seite 126 - T^EAR no more the heat o' the sun -*- Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
Seite 21 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Seite 74 - This is the saddest news that ever my pen could write. The destroying Angel having taken up his quarters within my habitation, my dearest wife is gone to her eternal rest, and is invested with a crown of righteousness, having made a happy end. Indeed, had she loved herself as well as me, she had fled from the pit of destruction with the sweet babes, and might have prolonged her days ; but she was resolved to die a martyr to my interest. My drooping spirits are much refreshed with her joys, which...
Seite 47 - This is the life which those who fret in guilt, And guilty cities, never knew ; the life Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt, When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man!
Seite 105 - Lifts the gay head, in snowy flowerets fair, And plays and dances to the gentle air ; When lo ! a whirlwind from high heaven invades The tender plant, and withers all its shades ; It lies uprooted from its genial bed, A lovely ruin now defaced and dead : Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay, While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away.
Seite 80 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls : and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook, there, its lonely head : the moss whistled to the wind.
Seite 75 - Or why so long (in life if long can be) Lent Heaven a parent to the poor and me ? What makes all physical or moral ill?