Poems, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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R. Johnson, 1803 - English poetry
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Page 215 - Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends , do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Page 214 - Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
Page 263 - Tis now become a history little known That once we called the pastoral house our own Short-lived possession! but the record fair That memory keeps, of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Page 235 - He that holds fast the golden mean And lives contentedly between The little and the great Feels not the wants that pinch the poor Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state.
Page 48 - Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill ; Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will ; And with a clear and shining lamp supplied, First put it out, then take it for a guide.
Page 214 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Page 262 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
Page 240 - You think, no doubt, he sits and muses On future broken bones and bruises, If he should chance to fall. No ; not a single thought like that Employs his philosophic pate, Or troubles it at all.
Page 264 - Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated...
Page 159 - He says but little, and that little said Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock it never is at home: 'Tis like a parcel sent...

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