The Wiccamical Chaplet, a Selection of Original Poetry: Comprising Smaller Poems, Serious and Comic; Classical Trifles; Mock-heroics, Epigrams, Fragments, &c., &c
Leigh, Sotheby, 1804 - College verse - 225 pages
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arms Bard Beauty beneath bliss bloom breast breath Bring charms cold dark dead dear Death doctors domum e'er EPIGRAM fair faithful fame fate fear feel fire flame fond FRAGMENT gave gentle give grace grave grove hand head hear heard heart Heav'n holy hope hour human INSCRIPTION Jack King kiss LADY light live look Lord mind morn Muse ne'er never night o'er once pain passion Peace Perhaps plain Poet Poetry rising round sacred shade sing smiling soft SONG SONNET soon soul sounds strain sung sure sweet tear tell thee thine thou thought thro TRANSLATION true turn Twas Verse Virtue voice wants wish World write Written young youth
Page 77 - But if, like me, he knew how fruitless all The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide, The world his country, and his God his guide.
Page 58 - Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair: If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve : If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither.
Page 99 - That cloth'd himself in clay, Enter'd the iron gates of death, And tore the bars away. 2 Death is no more the king of dread Since our Immanuel rose, He took the tyrant's sting away, And spoil'd our hellish foes. 3 See how the Conqueror mounts aloft, And to his Father flies, With scars of honour in his flesh, And triumph in his eyes. 4 There our exalted Saviour reigns...
Page 58 - SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be?
Page 207 - Queen of every moving measure, Sweetest source of purest pleasure, Music ! why thy powers employ Only for the sons of joy ? Only for the smiling guests At natal or at nuptial feasts ? Rather thy lenient numbers pour On those whom secret griefs devour : Bid be still the throbbing hearts Of those whom death or absence parts; And with some softly- whispered air Smooth the brow of dumb despair*".
Page 9 - Guide thro' the walks of death alone her car Attendant only on the din of war; She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace, Or olive shades of philosophic ease, Where heav'n-taught minds to woo the Muse resort.
Page 84 - And mark the lessening sand from hour-glass fall; Or 'neath my window view the wistful train Of dripping poultry, whom the vine's broad leaves Shelter no more. Mute is the mournful plain; Silent the swallow sits beneath the thatch, And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his hatch, Counting the frequent drips from reeded eaves.
Page 74 - Advancing slow forewarns the approach of day (What time the young and flowery-kirtled May Decks the green hedge and dewy grass unshorn With cowslips pale and many a whitening thorn...
Page 3 - If the stroke of war Fell certain on the guilty head, none else, If they that make the cause might taste th...
Page 210 - Dulce domum resonemus ! Chorus. Domum, domum, dulce domum ! Domum, domum, dulce domum ! Dulce, dulce, dulce domum ! Dulce domum resonemus.