Poems: Chiefly OccasionalJ. W. Fenno, 1800 - 119 стор. |
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beam beauty behold beneath bless'd blest bliss blood bone bosom brain breast breath bright Brothers Cerberus Cliffton cloud curses Dæmons darkness dear death delight Devil Dirtée display'd drest E'en e'er ev'ry fair fame Fancy fear fire fool forever France Friendship gale genius gentle Gorgon halter hand happy hath head hear Hearts of oak heaven Hell honey hope Iliad Jacobin kind kindling knave live Lord Nelson mind monster morning Muse ne'er never nose Nymph o'er Paddy passion patriots peace Phlegethon Poem Poet poor praise Quoth rage rest rill rise rose round rude scene shade shine sing sleep smile Sniffle Solon song soul spirit storm stupid Styx sweet tail Talleyrand tear tempest thee thine thou thought thro throng tongue twas United Irishmen vale virtue voice wild wing wretched YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
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Сторінка ix - In pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace: A fiery soul, which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay.
Сторінка 16 - He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning...
Сторінка 51 - Where Fancy sickens, and where Genius dies ; Where few and feeble are the muse's strains, And no fine frenzy riots in the veins, There still are found a few to whom belong The fire of virtue and the soul of song ; Whose kindling ardour still can wake the strings, When learning triumphs, and when GIFTOHD sings.
Сторінка 103 - Rich or bcggar'd, chain'd or free, Let me live and laugh with thee. Pride perhaps may knock, and say, " Rise thou sluggard, come away : " But can he thy joy impart, Will he crown my leaping heart ? If I banish hence thy smile Will he make it worth my while ? Is my lonely pittance past, Fleeting good too light to last, Lifts my friend the latch no more, Fancy, thou canst all restore ; Thou canst, with thy airy shell, To a palace raise my cell. At night, while stretch'd on lowly bed, When tyrant tempest...
Сторінка 107 - To dance among the flow'rets there, And here a lucid lake shall lie, Emboss'd with many an islet fair. From crag to crag, with devious sweep, Some frantic flood shall headlong go, And, bursting o'er the dizzy steep, Shall slumber in the lake below.
Сторінка 105 - And asleep is yet the gale On sea-beat mount, and rivered vale. But the morn, though sweet and fair, ' . Sweeter is when thou art there ; Hymning stars successive fade, Fairies hurtle through the shade, Lovelorn flowers I weeping see, If the scene is touched by thee. Thus through life with thee I'll glide, Happy still whate'er betide, And while plodding sots complain Of ceaseless toil and slender gain, Every passing hour shall be Worth a golden age to me. ROBERT TREAT PAINE. 1773-1811. (Manual, p....
Сторінка 101 - I'll drop a silent tear and bless thee. Return'd with honor, from the hostile plain, Mary will smile, and all be fair again. The bugles through the forest wind, The woodland soldiers call to battle, Be some protecting angel kind, And guard thy life when cannons rattle ! " She sung, and as the rose appears In sunshine, when the storm...
Сторінка 55 - tis o'er. The age of virtue will return no more; The doating world, its manly vigour flown, Wanders in mind, and dreams on folly's throne. Come then, sweet bard, again the cause defend, Be still the muses' and religion's friend; Again the banner of thy wrath display, And save the world from DARWIN'S tinsel lay. A soul like thine no listless pause should know ; Truth bids thee strike, and virtue guides the blow. From every conquest still more dreadful come, Till dulness fly, and folly's self be dumb....
Сторінка 105 - Fairies hurtle thro' the shade, Love-lorn flowers I weeping see, If the scene is touch'd by thee. When unclouded shines the day, When my spirits dance and play, To some sunny bank we'll go Where the fairest roses blow, And in gamesome vein prepare Chaplets for thy spanglcd hair.
Сторінка 104 - Within, the screech-owl made her mournful home, And birds obscene that hover round the tomb. — ALSOP. With thrilling shrieks his dirge the Death-owl sings, And birds ill-omen'd flap their dusky wings. — ALSOP. With thee to guide my steps I'll creep In some old haunted nook to sleep, Lull'd by the dreary night-bird's scream, That flits along the wizard stream, And there, till morning 'gins appear, The tales of troubled spirits hear. — CLIFFTON. It is a wild, a fearful spot, And sinless birds...