A poetical picture of Worthing and its vicinity, by Paul Potion [W. Phillips?].

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Page 85 - Far through his azure turbulent domain, Your empire owns, and from a thousand shore.s Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports ; So with superior boon may your rich soil, Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, And be the...
Page 39 - Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat, To peep at such a world ; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear.
Page 94 - your turf, your flowers among,' I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild, And woke your echoes with my artless song.
Page 50 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore...
Page 32 - Thou, fair Religion, wast design'd, Duteous daughter of the skies, To warm, and cheer the human mind, To make men happy, good and wise. To point where sits, in love array'd, Attentive to each suppliant call, The God of universal aid, The God, the Father of us all.
Page 48 - Of its clear streams, though unregarded now ; Ophirs more rich are found. With easy course 'The vessels glide ; unless their speed be stopp'd By. dead calms, that oft lie on those smooth seas While every zephyr sleeps ; then the shrouds drop; The downy feather, on the cordage hung, Moves not; the flat sea shines like yellow gold, Fus'd in the fire ; or like the marble floor 'Of some old temple wide.
Page 42 - And, rising, sportful on its surface play. Oh joy, to quit the fervid gleam of earth, Leave a faint atmosphere, and soon recruit Exhausted energy, suspended thus Upon the bosom of a cooler world ! Oh recreation exquisite, to feel The wholesome waters trickle from the head, Oft as its saturated locks emerge ! To feel them lick the hand, and lave the foot ! And when the playful and luxurious limb Is satiated with pastime, and the man Rises refresh'd from the voluptuous flood, How rich the pleasure...
Page 16 - Sure, the last end Of the good man is peace! How calm his exit! Night - dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary, worn - out winds expire so soft.
Page 99 - Dear to my heart, the honest here shall find The gate wide open, and the welcome kind ; Hence, thieves, away I on you my door shall close, Within these walls the wicked ne'er repose.

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