The Works of the English Poets: Shenstone |
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
appear bard beauty beneath bliſs bloom boaſt boſom breaſt bright charms crown dame Damon dear delight diſplay dwell face fair fame fancy fate fear field figh fire firſt flame flow flowers fond fortune gentle give glow gold grace green grove hand hear heart hills hope hour kind leave maid mind mournful Muſe muſt native nature ne'er never nymph o'er once pain paint peace plain pleaſe pleaſure praiſe pride reign riſe roſe round rural ſcenes ſcorn ſee ſeen ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhore ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſong ſoul ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tear tender thee theſe thine thoſe thou toils train tree tuneful Twas vain vale virtue voice wandering wealth whoſe wild wind youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 281 - And work the simple vassals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, But their limbs...
Seite 158 - Alas ! from the day that we met What hope of an end to my woes ? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain : The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
Seite 284 - And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's '.• wound; And marj'ram sweet, in shepherd's posie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare , perfume.
Seite 151 - I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd I could wander with pleasure, alone.
Seite 154 - I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due to a dove, That it ever attended the bold ; And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks, I should love her the more.
Seite 156 - Tis his with mock passion to glow, Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, " How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labour the strain, With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain, Repine at her triumphs, and die.
Seite 153 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
Seite 287 - She sees no kind domestic visage near, And soon a flood of tears begins to flow And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
Seite 282 - Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield : Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the hare-bell that adorns the field : And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield Tway birchen sprays...
Seite 152 - But a sweet-brier entwines it around, Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.