The Excursion: A Poem

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J. Walthoe, 1728 - 80 pages
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Page 77 - thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refused to save.
Page 76 - So fhall the faireft face appear, When youth and years are flown ; Such is the robe that kings muft wear When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the fpringing flower That fips the filver dew ; The rofe was budded in her cheek, Juft opening to the view.
Page 79 - That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And every charm is fled. The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear.
Page 56 - Beyond the sphere of Mars, in distant skies, Revolves the mighty magnitude of Jove, With kingly state, the rival of the Sun ; About him round four planetary moons, On earth with wonder all night long beheld, Moon above moon, his fair attendants, dance.
Page 78 - How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break?
Page 30 - Shot ftreaming from the bofom of the north, Opening the hollow gloom, red meteors blaze, To lend them light, and diftant thunders roll, Heard in low murmurs through the lowering fky.
Page 77 - Why did you promise love to me, And not that promise keep ? Why did you swear my eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep? " How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break?
Page 24 - Proud greatnefs, too. the tyranny of power, The grace of beauty, and the force of youth, And name and place, are here — for ever...
Page 78 - Yet leave thofe Eyes to weep ? How could You fay my Face was Fair, And yet that Face forfake ? How could You win my Virgin Heart...
Page 37 - Sight full of fate ! up from the centre torn. The ground yawns horrible a hundred mouths, Flashing pale flames— down through the gulfs profound, Screaming, whole crowds of every age and rank, With hands to Heaven rais'd high imploring aid, Prone to th' abyss descend; and o'er their heads Earth shuts her ponderous iaws.

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