Elegant Extracts: Book V. Pindaric, Horatian, and other odes ; Book VI. Elegiac and funereal, including monodies and epitaphsWells and Lilly, 1826 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Pàgina 29
... twas he that rais'd Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave , Where Tyranny beheld amaz'd [ grave . Fair Freedom's temple , where he mark'd her He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms To burst th ' Iberian's double chain ; And cities rear ...
... twas he that rais'd Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave , Where Tyranny beheld amaz'd [ grave . Fair Freedom's temple , where he mark'd her He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms To burst th ' Iberian's double chain ; And cities rear ...
Pàgina 56
... Twas sad by fits , by starts ' twas wild . But thou , O Hope , with eyes so fair , What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure , And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail : Still would her touch the strain ...
... Twas sad by fits , by starts ' twas wild . But thou , O Hope , with eyes so fair , What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure , And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail : Still would her touch the strain ...
Pàgina 69
... Twas at the royal feast , for Persia won By Philip's warlike son : Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were plac'd around , Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; ( So should ...
... Twas at the royal feast , for Persia won By Philip's warlike son : Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were plac'd around , Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; ( So should ...
Pàgina 71
... Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures , Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures : War , he sung , is toil and trouble , Honour but an empty bubble ; Never ending , still ...
... Twas but a kindred sound to move , For pity melts the mind to love . Softly sweet , in Lydian measures , Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures : War , he sung , is toil and trouble , Honour but an empty bubble ; Never ending , still ...
Pàgina 88
... Twas Patience - temperate goddess , stay ! For still thy dictates I obey , Nor yield to passion's power ; Though by injurious foes borne down , My fame , my toil , my hopes o'erthrown , In one ill - fated hour . When , robb'd of what I ...
... Twas Patience - temperate goddess , stay ! For still thy dictates I obey , Nor yield to passion's power ; Though by injurious foes borne down , My fame , my toil , my hopes o'erthrown , In one ill - fated hour . When , robb'd of what I ...
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Elegant Extracts: Book V. Pindaric, Horatian, and other odes ; Book VI ... Visualització completa - 1826 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
ANTISTROPHE beauty behold beneath bless'd bliss bloom blow bosom bowers breast breath charms cherub crown'd dear Death delight divine dust EDMUND DUKE Epitaph Eurydice Ev'n fair fame Fancy fate fear flow flowers fond FRANCIS ATTERBURY Francis Beaumont genius gloom glow goddess golden reign grace grave grief grove hallow'd hand hear heart Heav'n honour hour JAMES QUIN Joseph Warton joys light lov'd lyre maid mind MONODY Morpheus mourn Muse Nature's ne'er night nymph o'er pain pale passions peace pensive pity pleasure poison'd Pope pow'r praise pride rais'd rill sacred scene shade shine sigh smiles soft solemn song sooth sorrow soul sound stream sweet tear tender thee thine Thomas Warton thou throne toil tomb tongue train trembling truth Twas vale virtue Virtue's voice waking eyes warbling wave weeping Whilst wild wing youth ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ
Passatges populars
Pàgina 145 - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say : " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Pàgina 56 - Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses, And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Pàgina 61 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower! Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek...
Pàgina 144 - Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes...
Pàgina 137 - Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. No! men, high-minded men, With powers as far above dull brutes endued In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude ; Men, who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain : These constitute a State, And sovereign Law, that State's collected will O'er thrones and globes elate, Sits Empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
Pàgina 56 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Pàgina 144 - 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 power And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Pàgina 110 - Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity :
Pàgina 250 - To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove: But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No...
Pàgina 60 - And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green. To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon. Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud.