The Poetical Works of Mr. William Collins: With Memoirs of the Author; and Observations on His Genius and WritingsT. Becket and P. A. Dehondt, 1765 - 166 من الصفحات |
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عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Abra allegorical ANTISTROPHE Bard beautiful bleft breathe charm circumftances COLLINS CYMBELINE defcribed defcription delight diftinguiſhed dreft Druid expreffion expreffive eyes facred faid fair fame Fancy fcene Fear feems fentiment fhades fhall fhepherds fhore fhrieks fhrine fide fighs filent fimple fimplicity firft from Schiraz firſt flowers foft folemn fome fometimes fong fons fpecies fprings ftill ftrain ftrength fubject fuch fullen fung fwain fweet fword genius gentleft Georgian grief grove hair heart himſelf imagery laft lov'd meaſure midft mind moral moſt mountain's mufic mufing Muſe myrtles nature numbers nymph o'er Obfervations ODE ODE Oriental Eclogues paffed paffions paftoral Pity plain pleaſure poems poet poet's poetical poetry Polynices reaſon royal Abbas ſcene ſhall ſhe ſhould SIR THOMAS HANMER ſpecies ſpirit ſweet tender thee Theocritus theſe thofe thoſe thou thought thro vale verfe verſe virtue watchet whofe whoſe wild wizzard youth
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الصفحة 55 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
الصفحة 151 - Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare : On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait : Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE.
الصفحة 170 - Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star * arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car.
الصفحة 84 - O nymph endear'd ! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime!
الصفحة 96 - No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew ! The red-breast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.
الصفحة 121 - What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger...
الصفحة 46 - Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine.
الصفحة 178 - And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair...
الصفحة 73 - ... The gradual dusky veil, While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont> And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light : While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or 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 ! ODE TO PEACE.
الصفحة 81 - He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat...