The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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Сторінка 10
... poor , And grip'd them like some lordly beast of prey , Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger , And piteous plaintive voice of misery ( As if a slave was not a shred of nature , Of the same common nature with his lord ) : Now ...
... poor , And grip'd them like some lordly beast of prey , Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger , And piteous plaintive voice of misery ( As if a slave was not a shred of nature , Of the same common nature with his lord ) : Now ...
Сторінка 14
... poor indeed : Robb'd of his gods , what has he left behind ? O cursed lust of gold ! when for thy sake The fool throws up his interest in both worlds , First starv'd in this , then damn'd in that to come . How shocking must thy summons ...
... poor indeed : Robb'd of his gods , what has he left behind ? O cursed lust of gold ! when for thy sake The fool throws up his interest in both worlds , First starv'd in this , then damn'd in that to come . How shocking must thy summons ...
Сторінка 15
... poor bug bear death ; then might the wretch That's weary of the world , and tir'd of life , At once give each inquietude the slip , By stealing out of being when he pleas'd , And by what way , whether by hemp or steel ; Death's thousand ...
... poor bug bear death ; then might the wretch That's weary of the world , and tir'd of life , At once give each inquietude the slip , By stealing out of being when he pleas'd , And by what way , whether by hemp or steel ; Death's thousand ...
Сторінка 17
... green laughs louder , Or clubs a smuttier tale ; when drunkards meet , None sings a merrier catch , or lends a hand More willing to his cup . Poor wretch ! he minds . not That soon some trusty brother of the trade Shall do THE GRAVE . 17 .
... green laughs louder , Or clubs a smuttier tale ; when drunkards meet , None sings a merrier catch , or lends a hand More willing to his cup . Poor wretch ! he minds . not That soon some trusty brother of the trade Shall do THE GRAVE . 17 .
Сторінка 20
... Poor man ! how happy once in thy first state ! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand , He stamp'd thee with his image , and well pleas'd , Smil'd on his last fair work ! then all was well . Sound was the body , and the soul ...
... Poor man ! how happy once in thy first state ! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand , He stamp'd thee with his image , and well pleas'd , Smil'd on his last fair work ! then all was well . Sound was the body , and the soul ...
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The Grave, a Poem. to Which Are Added an Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by ... Robert Blair Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
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Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
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Сторінка 29 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Сторінка 32 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Сторінка 31 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Сторінка 29 - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Сторінка 50 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Сторінка 50 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Сторінка 50 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Сторінка 31 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
Сторінка 3 - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.