The virgin muse. Being a collection of poems from our most celebrated English poets. [Ed.] by J. Greenwood

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1722
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Page 160 - His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Page 112 - And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.
Page 126 - 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!
Page 160 - Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels ! for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing : ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Page 22 - Dire was the tossing, deep the groans : Despair Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch ; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invoked With vows, as their chief good, and final hope.
Page 138 - The Sun to me is dark And silent as the Moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the Soul, She all in every part; why was the sight To such a tender ball as the eye confined?
Page 138 - To live a life half dead, a living death, And buried; but, O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave...
Page 116 - Hither, as to their fountain, other stars Repairing, in their golden urns draw light...
Page 145 - Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. Then Summer, Autumn, Winter did appear, And Spring was but a season of the year. The sun his annual course obliquely made, Good days contracted, and enlarged the bad.
Page 9 - tis not a Jest Admir'd with Laughter at a feast, Nor florid Talk which can that Title gain; The Proofs of Wit for ever must remain.

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