Bell's Edition, Volumes 49-50

Front Cover
J. Bell, 1777 - English poetry
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Page 88 - The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.
Page 203 - Weary the gods to keep thee in their care; And joyous ask, at morn's returning ray, If thou hast health, and I may bless the day. My thoughts shall fix, my latest wish depend. On thee, guide...
Page 154 - To master John the English maid A horn-book gives of ginger-bread ; And, that the child may learn the better, As he can name, he eats the letter.
Page 164 - You have already gone too far. When people once are in the wrong, Each line they add is much too long. Who fastest walks, but walks astray, Is only furthest from his way. Bless your conceits ! must I...
Page 203 - Nor wild nor deep our common way divide. When from the cave thou risest with the day, To beat the woods, and rouse the bounding prey ; The cave with moss and branches I'll adorn, And cheerful sit, to wait my lord's return : And, when thou frequent bring'st the smitten deer, (For seldom, archers say, thy arrows err...
Page 123 - And, as through these canals they roll, Bring up a sample of the whole ; Like footmen running before coaches, To tell the inn, what lord approaches. By nerves about our palate plac'd, She...
Page 39 - Her happier fame; her armed fleet she sends To climates folded yet from human eye; And lands, which we imagine wave and sky. From pole to pole she hears her acts resound, And rules an empire by no ocean bound ; Knows her ships anchor'd, and her sails unfurl'd, In other Indies, and a second world.
Page 192 - Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid. When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drest, Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast. In his right hand his beechen pole he bears : And graceful at his side his horn he wears. Still to the glade, where she has bent her way. With knowing skill he drives the future prey ; Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brake ; And shews the path her steed may safest take ; Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound ; Pleas'd in his toils to have her triumph crown'd...
Page 27 - Take but the humblest lily of the field, And if our pride will to our reason yield, It must by sure comparison be shown, That on the regal seat great David's son, Array'd in all his robes and types of power. Shines with less glory than that simple flower.
Page 34 - With wholesome sleep, and necessary rest, Another sun demands return of care, The remnant toil of yesterday to bear? Whilst, when the solar beams salute...

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