The Chace: A Poem, Issue 1 (Google eBook)

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W. Bowyer, W. Strahan, and R. Baldwin, 1773 - English poetry - 122 pages
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Page 28 - 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...
Page 50 - With teeth and claws The civil war begins; grappling they tear, Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves; Horrible discord!
Page 127 - In this indeed you have fome advantage of your poetical brethren, that you paint to the eye; yet remember, Sir, that we give fpeech and motion, and a greater variety to our figures.
Page 29 - Elean fields could boast of old. Oh ! were a Theban lyre not wanting here, And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right ! Or to those spacious plains, where the...
Page 117 - Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns, And loud uproar. Ah there once more he vents ! See, that bold hound has seiz'd him; down they sink, Together lost; but soon shall he repent His rash assault.
Page 61 - Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths, Now give a loose to the clean generous steed ; Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur ; But in the madness of delight, forget Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range, And dangerous our course : but in the brave True courage never fails.
Page 64 - Ha ! yet he flies, nor yields To black despair. But one loose more, and all His wiles are vain. Hark ! through yon village now The rattling clamour rings.
Page 49 - And paint the horizon with their ruddy light : So round some island's shore of large extent, Amid the gloomy horrors of the night, The billows breaking on the pointed rocks, Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
Page 45 - The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host More numerous of old, which the great king * Pour'd out on Greece from all th' unpeopled East, That bridg'd the Hellespont from shore to shore, And drank the rivers dry.
Page 115 - O'er yon dank rushy marsh The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course, And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman, bring Thy eager pack; and trail him to his couch. Hark! the loud peal begins, the clam'rous joy, The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air. Ye Naiads fair, who o'er these floods preside, Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, And hear our melody. Th...

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