The Works of the English Poets: Shenstone

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Page 160 - Alas ! from the day that we met What hope of an end to my woes ? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain : The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
Page 285 - Though now so wide its waving branches flow And work the simple vassals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew. But their limbs shudder'd, and their pulse beat low, And as they look'd, they found their horror grew, And shap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view.
Page 157 - She is ev'ry way pleasing to me. 0 you that have been of her train, Come and join in my amorous lays ; 1 could lay down my life for the swain That will sing but a song in her praise.
Page 286 - And at the door imprisoning board is seen, Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray, Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day ! The noises intermixed which thence resound, Do learning's little tenement betray, Where sits the dame, disguised in look profound, And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.
Page 287 - Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth, Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; Yet these she challenged, these she held right dear ; Ne would esteem him act as mought behove Who should not honour'd eld with these revere ; For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love.
Page 288 - And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's '.• wound; And marj'ram sweet, in shepherd's posie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare , perfume.
Page 183 - WRITTEN AT AN INN AT HENLEY. To thee, fair Freedom ! I retire From flattery, cards, and dice, and din ; Nor art thou found in mansions higher Than the low cot or humble Inn. Tis here with boundless power I reign, And every health which I begin Converts dull port to bright champagne ; Such freedom crowns it at an Inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from plate! I fly from Falsehood's specious grin ! Freedom I love, and form I hate...
Page 10 - If the Author has hazarded, throughout, the use of English or modern allusions, he hopes it will not be imputed to an entire ignorance, or to the least disesteem of the ancient learning. He has kept the ancient plan and method in his eye, though he builds his edifice with the materials of his own nation.
Page 154 - To visit some far distant shrine, If he bear but a relique away, Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus, widely remov'd from the fair, Where my vows, my devotion I owe ; Soft hope is the relique I bear, And my solace wherever I go.
Page 159 - She is faithless — and I am undone. Perhaps I was void of all thought ; Perhaps it was plain to foresee That a nymph so complete would be sought By a swain more engaging than me.

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