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Сторінка 81 - tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Сторінка 162 - Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks ; Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Сторінка 153 - Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames That so did take Eliza and our James!
Сторінка 192 - The wrath of Peleus' son, the direful spring Of all the Grecian woes, O Goddess, sing; That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain. The stern Pelides...
Сторінка 226 - Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich.
Сторінка 189 - His banished gods restored to rites divine, And settled sure succession in his line ; From whence the race of Alban fathers come And the long glories of majestic Rome.
Сторінка 153 - But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with rage Or influence, chide or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.
Сторінка 181 - IT is a hard and nice subject for a man to write of himself; it grates his own heart to say any thing of disparagement, and the reader's ears to hear any thing of praise from him. There is no danger from me of offending him in this kind ; neither my mind, nor my body, nor my fortune, allow me any materials for that vanity. It is sufficient for my own contentment, that they have preserved me...
Сторінка 187 - Hell, Earth, Chaos, all; the argument Held me a while misdoubting his intent, That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) The sacred truths to fable and old song (So...
Сторінка 162 - And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.