The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volum 23

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Pàgina 321 - Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, — And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue; And that which He delights in must be happy.
Pàgina 221 - Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious, lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my pains beguile : The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, And streams shall murmur all around...
Pàgina 322 - ... there is all Nature cries aloud Through all her works). He must delight in virtue ; And that which He delights in must be happy. But when ? or where ? This world was made for Caesar — I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them.
Pàgina 36 - On foreign mountains may the Sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil : We envy not the warmer clime, that lies...
Pàgina 99 - The god sits high, exalted on a throne Of blazing gems, with purple garments on ; The hours, in order rang'd on either hand, And days, and months, and years, and ages stand. Here spring appears with...
Pàgina 245 - Put forth thy utmost strength, work every nerve, And call up all thy father in thy soul : To quell the tyrant Love, and guard thy heart On this weak side, where most our nature fails, Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son.
Pàgina 240 - Commanding tears to stream through every age ; Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author shuns...
Pàgina 215 - To all my weak Complaints and Cries Thy Mercy lent an Ear, Ere yet my feeble Thoughts had learnt To form themselves in Pray'r. Unnumber'd Comforts to my Soul Thy tender Care bestow'd, Before my Infant Heart conceiv'd From whom those Comforts flow'd. When in the slipp'ry Paths of Youth With heedless Steps I ran, Thine Arm unseen convey'd me safe And led me up to Man...
Pàgina 27 - Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, Can charm an understanding age no more; The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, While the dull moral lies too plain below.
Pàgina 273 - This sober conduct is a mighty virtue In lukewarm patriots. Cato. Come! no more, Sempronius, All here are friends to Rome, and to each other. Let us not weaken still the weaker side By our divisions. Sem. Cato, my resentments Are sacrificed to Rome — I stand reproved.

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