The Poetical Works of James Thomson, Band 2

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Little, Brown,., 1854
 

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Seite 262 - I care not, Fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face. ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Seite 220 - But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not THEE, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring...
Seite 221 - The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Seite 109 - Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns and gilded streams till all | The stretching landscape into smoke decays...
Seite 15 - Amid the glad Creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. The stealing Shower is scarce to patter heard, By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.
Seite 219 - Shoots full perfection through the swelling year: And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks : And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter awful Thou ! with clouds and storms Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd, Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, Riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, And humblest Nature with thy northern blast.
Seite 142 - Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil, Sick, seizes on his heart ; he stands at bay, And puts his last weak refuge in despair. The big round tears run down his dappled face ; He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack, Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, And mark his beauteous chequered sides with gore.
Seite 217 - Behold, fond man : See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength. Thy sober autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.
Seite 231 - A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky : There eke the soft delights, that witchingly Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, And the calm pleasures, always hovered nigh ; But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.
Seite 138 - The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still The deluge deepens; till the fields around Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. Sudden, the ditches swell; the meadows swim^ Red, from the hills, innumerable streams Tumultuous roar; and high above its banks The river lift ; before whose rushing tide, Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages and swains, Roll mingled down...

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