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650. oldal - And make me savoury meat, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat: that my soul may bless thee before I die.
422. oldal - tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
678. oldal - You shall see him brought to bay, " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Louder, louder chant the lay, Waken, lords and ladies gay ; Tell them, youth, and mirth, and glee, Run a course as well as we, Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk? Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.
678. oldal - Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green; Now we come to chant our lay 'Waken, lords and ladies gay.
100. oldal - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
523. oldal - THE BODY of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Printer, (like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stript of its lettering and gilding) lies here food for worms ; yet the work itself shall not be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition, corrected and amended by THE AUTHOR.
290. oldal - Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow ? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow ? Not to the skies in useless columns tost...
506. oldal - Seasons" wonders that he never saw before what Thomson shows him, and that he never yet has felt what Thomson impresses.
242. oldal - Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, Let not my spirit's flight be weak : Let me not, like this feeble thing, With brine still dropping from its wing, Just sparkle in the solar glow And plunge again to depths below. But, when I leave the grosser throng With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, Let me, in that aspiring day, Cast every lingering stain away, And, panting for thy purer air, Fly up at once and fix me there.