The Union: Or, Select Scots and English Poems

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R. Baldwin, in Paternoster-Row, 1759 - English poetry - 152 pages
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Page 68 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 65 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Page 65 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 69 - Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 40 - 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.
Page 65 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Page 67 - Some village-Hampden, that with dauntlefs breaft The little Tyrant of his fields withftood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft, Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.. Th...
Page 41 - 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!
Page 67 - Lot forbad : nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing Virtues, but their Crimes confin'd ; Forbad to wade through Slaughter to a Throne, And...
Page 63 - Through the wide-spreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Still shone with undiminish'd blaze ? Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke. What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage and rancour fell.

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