Poems, Volum 1

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From the Press of C. Whittingham ; sold by R. Jennings [and 4 others], 1821
 

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Pàgina 31 - E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he (his musical finesse was such, So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; And every warbler has his tune by heart.
Pàgina 129 - To associate all the branches of mankind ; And if a boundless plenty be the robe, Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. Wise to promote whatever end he means, God opens fruitful nature's various scenes : Each climate needs what other climes produce, And offers something to the general use ; No land but listens to the common call, And in return receives supply from all.
Pàgina 198 - Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, But not to manage leisure with a grace; Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant, is a mind distress'd.
Pàgina 154 - Am I to set my life upon a throw, Because a bear is rude and surly? No. — A moral, sensible, and well-bred man Will not affront me, and no other can.
Pàgina 165 - That reaching home, the night, they said, is near, We must not now be parted, sojourn here— The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And, made so welcome at their simple feast, He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord!
Pàgina 12 - Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and died, Where duty placed them, at their country's side ; The man that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
Pàgina 156 - Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys, Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex, whose presence civilizes ours...
Pàgina 200 - Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; But such as learning, without false pretence, The friend of truth, the associate of sound sense.
Pàgina 188 - Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, Forgery of- fancy, and a dream of woes; Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony disposed aright; The screws reversed (a task which if he please God in a moment executes with ease) Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use.
Pàgina 165 - The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event : They spake of him they loved, of him whose life, Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts.

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