Poems, Volume 3

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Whiting and Watson, 1818 - 299 páginas
 

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Página 232 - semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay'd, No- light propitious shone; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd each alone : But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
Página 224 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary...
Página 223 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will...
Página 193 - Thy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth.
Página 231 - Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight in such a sea Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted and his friends so nigh. He long survives who lives an hour In ocean self-upheld: And so long he with unspent power His destiny repelled; And ever as the minutes flew Entreated help, or cried Adieu!
Página 64 - Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.
Página 211 - That ere through age or woe I shed my wings I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings:— But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright — There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine...
Página 63 - The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves by thumps upon your back How he esteems your merit, Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, .
Página 194 - Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still The great and little of thy lot, thy growth From almost nullity into a state Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Slow, into such magnificent decay. Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly Could shake thee to the root — and time has been When tempests could not.
Página 231 - Delay'd not to bestow. But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

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