What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
antient arms art thou beauty behold beneath blessings blest bliss blood breast breath bright charms chyle courser cries crowd dark death delight divine dread earth etermity eternal ev'n ev'ry Ev’n eyes fair fame fate fear fire flame flies flow'rs fool form'd give glory grace hand happy heart heaven honor hope hour human immortal Jebusites king light Lord lyre mighty mind mortal Muse nature nature's ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er pain passion peace plain pleas'd pleasure poison'd pow'r praise pride proud race rage rapture reign rise round sacred scene seise sense shade shine sight skies smile soft song soul spleen stream sweet tears tempest thee Theseus thine thou thought thro throne toil train trembling truth Twas vex'd virtue voice wind wings wise wretch youth
Page 250 - Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike...
Page 196 - And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down ; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Page 113 - tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time ; Year after year it steals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
Page 280 - And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. Great wits are sure to madness near allied And thin partitions do their bounds divide; Else, why should he, with wealth and honor blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?
Page 113 - And that through every stage ; when young, indeed, In full content we sometimes nobly rest, Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Page 473 - Big with the vanity of state ; But transient is the smile of Fate ! A little rule, a little sway, A sun-beam in a winter's day, Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave.
Page 196 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
Page 196 - Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Page 20 - Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike th' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 473 - Ethiop's arm. See on the mountain's southern side, Where the prospect opens wide, Where the evening gilds the tide, How close and small the hedges lie, What streaks of meadows cross the eye! A step methinks may pass the stream, So little distant dangers seem; So we mistake the future's face Eyed through Hope's deluding glass; As yon...