The works of John Moore. With memoirs of his life and writings, by R. Anderson, Том 2

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Сторінка 369 - But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Сторінка 247 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge. And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds...
Сторінка 118 - Thames ! the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons, By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity; Though with those streams he no resemblance hold. Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold : His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing.
Сторінка 118 - O, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
Сторінка 361 - That part of the island we had landed on was a narrow ridge, not above a musket-shot across, bounded on one side by the sea, and on the other by a creek, extending upwards of a mile inland, and nearly communicating with the sea at its head.
Сторінка 247 - Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Сторінка 118 - But free and common as the sea or wind ; When he, to boast or to disperse his stores, Full of the tributes of his grateful shores...
Сторінка 118 - O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring ; Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay, Like mothers which their infants overlay ; Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoil The mower's hopes...
Сторінка 118 - tis, bestows it where it wants. Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants, So that, to us, no thing, no place is strange, While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.
Сторінка 247 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness...

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