A Collection of Poems: In Six Volumes, Band 6J. Hughs, 1765 |
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Seite 11
... thou , ( Albeit oft , ungrateful , thou doft mock The beverage of the fober Naiad's urn , O Bromius , O Lenæan ) nor can'st thou Difown the powers whose bounty , ill repaid , With nectar feeds thy tendrils . Yet from me , Yet ...
... thou , ( Albeit oft , ungrateful , thou doft mock The beverage of the fober Naiad's urn , O Bromius , O Lenæan ) nor can'st thou Difown the powers whose bounty , ill repaid , With nectar feeds thy tendrils . Yet from me , Yet ...
Seite 22
... Thou my words wilt own : Thy breaft the gifts of every Mufe hath known ; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name . I. 3 . The Mufe's aweful art , And the fair function of the poet's tongue , Ne'er fhalt thou blush to honour ...
... Thou my words wilt own : Thy breaft the gifts of every Mufe hath known ; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name . I. 3 . The Mufe's aweful art , And the fair function of the poet's tongue , Ne'er fhalt thou blush to honour ...
Seite 23
... ( Thou well can't witness ) meet the purged ear : Such , as when Greece to her immortal ( hell Rejoicing liften'd , godlike founds to hear ; To hear the sweet inftructress tell ( While men and heroes throng'd around ) How life its noblest ...
... ( Thou well can't witness ) meet the purged ear : Such , as when Greece to her immortal ( hell Rejoicing liften'd , godlike founds to hear ; To hear the sweet inftructress tell ( While men and heroes throng'd around ) How life its noblest ...
Seite 24
... thou be hail'd of me : Not that Apollo fed thee from his fhrine ; Not that thy lips drank fweetness from the bee ; Nor yet that , ftudious of thy notes divine , Pan danc'd their measure with the fylvan throng ; But that thy fong Was ...
... thou be hail'd of me : Not that Apollo fed thee from his fhrine ; Not that thy lips drank fweetness from the bee ; Nor yet that , ftudious of thy notes divine , Pan danc'd their measure with the fylvan throng ; But that thy fong Was ...
Seite 25
... thou , O faithful to thy fame , The Mufe's law didft rightly know ; That who would animate his lays , And other minds to virtue raise , Muft feel his own with all her spirit glow . III . I .. Are there , approv'd of later times , Whose ...
... thou , O faithful to thy fame , The Mufe's law didft rightly know ; That who would animate his lays , And other minds to virtue raise , Muft feel his own with all her spirit glow . III . I .. Are there , approv'd of later times , Whose ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
bard beauty behold beneath beſt bleffings bleft boaſt bofom breaſt cauſe charms Chlorinda diftant eaſe Ev'n facred fafe fage fair fame fate fcene feat fenfe fhade fhall fhew fhun figh filent fince firft firſt flow'rs fmile foft folar folemn fome fong fons foul freſh friendſhip ftands ftate ftill fuch fure fweet fwelling genius glory Goddeſs grace grove gueſt guife hand heart heav'n himſelf juft laſt Latian lefs loft lyre mind moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiads ne'er numbers Nymphs o'er paffion pain peace plain pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe purſue raiſe reft rife rofe ſcene ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſky ſpeak ſpirit ſpread ſprings ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſtream ſweet taſk taſte thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand toil truth vale virtue Whilft whofe Whoſe wife wings wiſh youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 387 - Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pidur'd urn Thoughts, that breathe, and words, that burn. But ah ! 'tis heard no more — Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now ? though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban Eagle bear Sailing with
Seite 391 - Thy fon is gone. He refts among the Dead. " The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born, " Gone to falute the rifing Morn. " Fair laughs the Morn, and foft the Zephyr blows, " While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
Seite 386 - This pencil take (fhe faid) whofe colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine too thefe golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the facred fource of fympathetic Tears. III. 2.
Seite 384 - II. i. Man's feeble race what Ills await, Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Difeafe, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, fad refuge from the ftorms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my Song, difprove, And juftify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heav'nly Mufe ? Night, and all her fickly dews, Her
Seite 387 - tis heard no more — Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now ? though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban Eagle bear Sailing with fupreme dominion Through the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Mufe's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the
Seite 389 - (Loofe his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Matter's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep forrows of his lyre. * Hark, how each giant-oak, and defart cave, * Sighs to the torrent's
Seite 390 - The characters of hell to trace. " Mark the year, and mark the night, " When Severn fhall re-echo with affright " The fhrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that ring, " Shrieks of an agonizing King! " She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
Seite 382 - A WAKE, /Eolian lyre, awake, * And give to rapture all thy trembling firings. From Helicon's harmonious fprings A thoufand rills their mazy progrefs take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the ; rich ftream of mufic winds along Deep, majeftic, fmooth and ftrong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the
Seite 390 - they lie, * Smear'd with gore, and ghaftly pale: * Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens fail; * The famifh'd Eagle fcreams, and paffes by. * Dear loft companions of my tuneful art, * Dear, as the light, that vifits thefe fad eyes, * Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, ' Ye died amidft your dying country's cries — ' No more I weep. They do not deep.
Seite 391 - From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs *' The fcourge of Heav'n. What Terrors round him wait! ** Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd, " And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. II. 2. " Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, " Low on his funeral couch he lies ! " No pitying heart, no eye afford " A tear to grace his obfequies. »** Is the fable