Poems, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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J. Johnson, 1788
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Page 47 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
Page 348 - The bottles twain, behind his back, were shattered at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke as they had basted been. But still he...
Page 354 - Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear, For while he spake a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear. Whereat his horse did snort as he Had heard a lion roar, And gallop'd off with all his might As he had done before.
Page 271 - One song employs all nations ; and all cry, " Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us ! " The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy, Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round.
Page 218 - He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease as Samson his green withes.
Page 40 - God made the country, and man made the town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bitter draught That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threatened in the fields and groves...
Page 101 - Defend me therefore, common sense, say I, From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up...
Page 19 - Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice That yet a remnant of your race survives.
Page 139 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 137 - tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright...

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