Cowper: The didactic poems of 1782 with selections from the minor pieces, A.D. 1779-1783

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Clarendon Press, 1874
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Seite 178 - Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more ! My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? Oh tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Seite 228 - All sadness but despair : now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils.
Seite 177 - I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, — I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
Seite 8 - On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them." Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how), He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave., solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or but — " That, whenever the...
Seite 178 - How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
Seite 186 - Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock.
Seite 182 - Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.
Seite 126 - Discourse may want an animated — No, To brush the surface, and to make it flow ; But still remember, if you mean to please, To press your point with modesty and ease. The mark, at which my juster aim I take, Is contradiction for its own dear sake.
Seite xlii - Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; Thou art the nurse of Virtue ; in thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
Seite 211 - Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, On Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe, The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine...

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