Original poems, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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Printed for A. Kincaid and W. Creech, and J. Balfour, 1773 - English poetry
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Page 235 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high. Arise ye more than dead. Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, In order to their stations leap, And music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man.
Page 236 - Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
Page 229 - OH last and best of Scots ! who didst maintain Thy country's freedom from a foreign reign ; New people fill the land now thou art gone, New gods the temples, and new kings the throne. Scotland and thou did each in other live ; 5 Nor wouldst thou her, nor could she thee survive. Farewell, who dying didst support the state, And couldst not fall but with thy country's fate.
Page 221 - The bottom did the top appear ; Of deeper too and ampler floods, Which, as in mirrors, shew'd the woods ; Of lofty trees, with sacred shades, And perspectives of pleasant glades, Where nymphs of brightest form appear, And shaggy satyrs standing near, Which them at once admire and fear.
Page 236 - But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above.
Page 24 - Rebellion equals all, and those, who toil In common theft, will share the common spoil. Let her produce the title and the right, Against her old...
Page 147 - He's knight o' the shire, and represents ye all. From each he meets he culls whate'er he can; Legion's his name, a people in a man. His bulky folly gathers as it goes, And, rolling o'er you, like a snow-ball grows.
Page 147 - Another's diving bow he did adore, Which with a shog casts all the hair before, Till he, with full decorum, brings it back, And rises with a water-spaniel shake. 3 As for his songs, the ladies' dear delight, These sure he took from most of you who write.
Page 230 - O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
Page 244 - A sigh or tear, perhaps, she'll give, But love on pity cannot live. Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, And love with love is only paid. Tell her my pains so fast increase, That soon they will be past redress ; But, ah ! the wretch that speechless lies, Attends but death to close his eyes.

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