The beauties of English poetry, selected from the most esteemed authors, by dr. Wolcot (Google eBook)

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John Wolcot
1804
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Page 50 - Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes, So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name.
Page 48 - If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste eve, to soothe thy modest ear. Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales...
Page 32 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering Worth is...
Page 66 - Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter, with dire chilling blasts Portending agues.
Page 60 - Happy the man who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leathern purse retains A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpie or...
Page 119 - Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.
Page 122 - Heaven has brought me to the state you see; And your condition may be soon like mine, The Child of Sorrow and of Misery...
Page 50 - Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires ; And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.
Page 61 - Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. But I, whom griping Penury surrounds, And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want, With scanty offals...
Page 31 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i

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