Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
appear arms beauty beneath blefs'd breaſt breath bright charms command court dear death delight earth ev'ry eyes face facred fair fall fame fate fear feel fhade fhall fide fields fighs fight fire flame flow fmiles fome fong fons force forrow foul ftill fuch grace grief grove hand head hear heart Heav'n hills honour hope hour it's kind king land laws leave light live look maid mind morn mourn muft Nature night o'er once paffion pain peace plain pleaſure pow'r pride race rage rife round ſcene ſhall ſhe tears tell thee thefe theſe thoſe thou thought thro toil train truth turns vain various virtue voice wealth whofe wild wind woods wretch youth
Pàgina 273 - His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Pàgina 160 - But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
Pàgina 414 - What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once and smite no more.
Pàgina 219 - Without a vain, without a grudging heart, To him who gives us all, I yield a part ; From him you come, for him accept it here, A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.
Pàgina 272 - On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes let Swedish Charles decide ; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire ; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific...
Pàgina 15 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That more than heaven pursue.
Pàgina 415 - There entertain him all the saints above In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Pàgina 448 - Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.