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Strana 221 - Now the bright morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Strana 385 - Yet more, the Depths have more! — What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. — Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main!
Strana 96 - Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together! And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.
Strana 261 - Seasons" does not contain a single new image of external nature; and scarcely presents a familiar one from which it can be .inferred that the eye of the Poet had been steadily fixed upon his object, much less that his feelings had urged him to work upon it in the spirit of genuine imagination.
Strana 240 - A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn, To scorn to owe a duty overlong ; To scorn to be for benefits forborne, To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong. To scorn to bear an injury in mind, To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind.
Strana 85 - twould undo him Should he go still so drest. At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' th' town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the Crown. But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his wooing; The parson for him...
Strana 209 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Strana 164 - Wm would sometimes when he was pleasant over a glasse of wine with his most intimate friends eg Sam: Butler (author of Hudibras) &c. say, that it seemed to him that he writt with the very spirit that Shakespeare, and was seemed contented enough to be thought his Son...
Strana 352 - O happy age ! when Hope's unclouded ray Lights their green path, and prompts their simple mirth, Ere yet they feel the thorns that lurking lay To wound the wretched pilgrims of the earth, Making them rue the hour that gave them birth, And threw them on a world so full of pain, Where prosperous folly treads on patient worth, And to deaf pride misfortune pleads in vain ! Ah ! for their future fate how many fears Oppress my heart, and fill mine eyes with tears!