The Spirit of the Public Journals: Being an Impartial Selection of the Most Exquisite Essays and Jeux D'esprits, Principally Prose, that Appear in the Newspapers and Other Publications, Том 13

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Stephen Jones, Charles Molloy Westmacott
James Ridgway, 1810
 

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Страница 39 - Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Страница 319 - Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead, And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge...
Страница 295 - Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field Strow'd with Home's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter, His horse's hoofs wet with Patrician blood ! Oh, Portius ! is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man, Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin ? PORTIUS.
Страница 58 - Is there a son of generous England here Or fervid Erin ? — he with us shall join, To pray that in eternal union dear, The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine ! Types of a race who shall th...
Страница 84 - Bows to the sage, and mounts the car. The lash resounds, the coursers spring, The chariot marks the rolling ring; And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes, And shouts, pursue him as he flies. Triumphant to the goal return'd, With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd; And now along th...
Страница 318 - On the bare earth exposed he lies With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below; And now and then a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow.
Страница 339 - What strings symphonious tremble in the air. What strains of vocal transport round her play ? Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear : They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings.
Страница 83 - Howe'er, the youth, with forward air, Bows to the sage, and mounts the car. The lash resounds, the coursers spring, The chariot...
Страница 84 - Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy; And all but Plato gaz'd with joy. For he, deep-judging sage, beheld With pain the triumphs of the field : And when the charioteer drew nigh, And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Страница 318 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honour but an empty bubble, Never ending, still beginning; Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee ! —The many rend the skies with loud applause; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause.

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