A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley].1758 |
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Página 5
... praise . You , Nymphs , the winged offspring , which of old Aurora to divine Aftræus bore , Owns ; and your aid befeecheth . When the might Of Hyperion , from his noontide throne , Unbends their languid pinions , aid from you They afk ...
... praise . You , Nymphs , the winged offspring , which of old Aurora to divine Aftræus bore , Owns ; and your aid befeecheth . When the might Of Hyperion , from his noontide throne , Unbends their languid pinions , aid from you They afk ...
Página 6
... from my delighted lyre , Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ; Nor heed the fcoffings of the Edonian band . For better praise awaits you . Thames , your fire , As As down the verdant flope your duteous rills Defcend , [ 6 ]
... from my delighted lyre , Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ; Nor heed the fcoffings of the Edonian band . For better praise awaits you . Thames , your fire , As As down the verdant flope your duteous rills Defcend , [ 6 ]
Página 8
... praise , O Naiads , which from tongues cœleftial waits Your bounteous deeds . From bounty iffueth power : And those who , fedulous in prudent works , Relieve the wants of nature , Jove repays With generous wealth and his own feat on ...
... praise , O Naiads , which from tongues cœleftial waits Your bounteous deeds . From bounty iffueth power : And those who , fedulous in prudent works , Relieve the wants of nature , Jove repays With generous wealth and his own feat on ...
Página 10
... praise , Abafh the frantic Thyrfus with my fong . For not eftrang'd from your benignant arts Is he , the God , to whofe myfterious shrine My youth was facred , and my votive cares Are Are due ; the learned Pæon . Oft when all [ 10 ]
... praise , Abafh the frantic Thyrfus with my fong . For not eftrang'd from your benignant arts Is he , the God , to whofe myfterious shrine My youth was facred , and my votive cares Are Are due ; the learned Pæon . Oft when all [ 10 ]
Página 20
... Where all are conscious of her cares , And each the power , that rules him , fhares ; Here let the bard , whose dastard tongue Leaves public arguments unfung , Bid public praise farewell : Let him to fitter climes Bid [ 20 ]
... Where all are conscious of her cares , And each the power , that rules him , fhares ; Here let the bard , whose dastard tongue Leaves public arguments unfung , Bid public praise farewell : Let him to fitter climes Bid [ 20 ]
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A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies ... Collection Visualização integral - 1766 |
A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies ... Collection Visualização integral - 1765 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
bard beauty behold beneath bleffings bleft blifs boaſt bofom breaſt charms chearful Chlorinda cloſe cou'd courſe eaſe Ev'n ev'ry facred fafe fage fair fame fate fcene feat fenfe fhade fhall fhew fhou'd fhun figh filent fince firft firſt flow'rs fmile foft folar folemn fome fong fons foul freſh ftands ftate ftill ftream fuch fure fweet genius glory grace grove hand heart heav'n laſt Latian lefs loft lyre mind moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiads ne'er numbers Nymphs o'er paffion peace plain pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe purſue raiſe reafon reft rife ſcene ſhade ſhall ſhape ſhare ſhe ſhould ſky ſmile ſpeak ſpirit ſpread ſprings ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſweet taſk taſte thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand thro toil vale virtue Whilft whofe whoſe wife wings wiſh worfe wou'd youth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 321 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air And, with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Página 322 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Página 317 - Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales and Ceres...
Página 318 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Página 28 - The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying.
Página 321 - And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 'Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath ! O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they wave,. Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
Página 319 - Muse? Night and all her sickly dews, Her Spectres wan, and Birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war.
Página 323 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Página 27 - Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, . This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were placed by Glycon.
Página 325 - Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.