A collection of poems in six volumes, Volume 3

Front Cover
Robert Dodsley
Printed for J. Dodsley, 1782 - English poetry
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Page 134 - When young-ey'd Spring profufely throws From her green lap the pink and rofe, When the foft turtle of the dale To Summer tells her tender tale, When Autumn cooling caverns feeks, And ftains with wine his jolly cheeks, When Winter, like poor pilgrim old, Shakes his filver beard with cold, At
Page 321 - go about To cozen Fortune, and be honourable Without the Stamp of Merit ? ShakspearE. YE S : all, my Lord, ufurp fair Honour's fame, Though falfe as various be the
Page 327 - wak'd freedom in the favage mine ! Yes : truly glorious, only great is he, Who conquers, or who bleeds for liberty. " Heroes are much the fame, the point's agreed, " From Macedonia's madman to the Swede." 105 Like baleful comets flaming in the Ikies, At deftin'd times th' appointed fcourges rife ; § Awhile in
Page 355 - to the dart, That quench'd its rage in Yours and Britain's heart: You mourn : But Britain, lull'd in reft profound, (Unconfcious Britain !) /lumbers o'er her wound. Exulting Dulnefs ey'd the fetting light, And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the night : Rous'd at the fignal, Guilt collects her train, And counts the triumphs of her growing reign : With
Page 128 - eye) To lift my foul above this little earth, This folly-fetter'd world : to purge my ears, That I may hear the rolling planets' fong, And tuneful turning fpheres: if this be barr'd^ The little Fayes that dance in neighbouring dales, Sipping the night-dew, while they laugh and love> Shall charm me with aerial notes.—As thus I wander
Page 6 - now they all confpire To fwell the lofty hymn, from praife to praife VI. Let me, ye wand'ring fpirits of the wind, Who as wild Fancy prompts you touch the firing, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd, For, 'till you ceafe, my
Page 361 - the knave. Who combats Virtue's foe is Virtue's friend ; Then judge of Satire's merit by her end : To guilt alone her vengeance ftands confin'd, The object of her love is all mankind. 150 Scarce more the friend of man, the wife muft own, Ev'n Allen's
Page 371 - Her hand delineates paifion, pictures man. And great the toil, the latent foul to trace, To paint the heart, and catch internal grace ; By turns bid vice or virtue flrike our eyes, Now bid a Wolfey or a Cromwell rife ; Now with a touch more facred and refin'd,
Page 134 - feafon let my ear Thy folemn whifpers, Fancy, hear. O warm, enthufiaftic maid, Without thy powerful, vital aid, That breathes an energy divine, That gives a foul to every line, Ne'er may I ftrive with lips profane To utter an

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