The Muses' Bower,: Embellished with the Beauties of English Poetry, 2. köideW. Plant Piercy, 1809 |
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Page 4
... bosom wears . When , chill'd with fear , the trembling pilgrim roves Through pathless deserts , and through tangled groves , Where mantling darkness spreads her dragon wing , And birds of death their fatal dirges sing , While vapours ...
... bosom wears . When , chill'd with fear , the trembling pilgrim roves Through pathless deserts , and through tangled groves , Where mantling darkness spreads her dragon wing , And birds of death their fatal dirges sing , While vapours ...
Page 7
... bosom made To warm dull groves , and cheer the lonely glade ? Ah , no : those blushes , that enchanting face , Some tap'stried hall , or gilded bower , might grace ; Might deck the scenes , where love and pleasure reign , And fire with ...
... bosom made To warm dull groves , and cheer the lonely glade ? Ah , no : those blushes , that enchanting face , Some tap'stried hall , or gilded bower , might grace ; Might deck the scenes , where love and pleasure reign , And fire with ...
Page 13
... bosom of the wanton air : With modest grace , the goddess he addrest , And , thoughtless , thus prefer'd his fond request . ' Queen of the world ! whose wide - extended sway , Gay youth , firm manhood , and cold age , obey , Grant me ...
... bosom of the wanton air : With modest grace , the goddess he addrest , And , thoughtless , thus prefer'd his fond request . ' Queen of the world ! whose wide - extended sway , Gay youth , firm manhood , and cold age , obey , Grant me ...
Page 14
... bosom , fairer than a hill of snow , And gently bounding like a playful roe ; Her lips , more fragrant than the summer air ; And sweet as Scythian musk , her hyacinthine hair ; Let new delights each dancing hour employ , Sport follow ...
... bosom , fairer than a hill of snow , And gently bounding like a playful roe ; Her lips , more fragrant than the summer air ; And sweet as Scythian musk , her hyacinthine hair ; Let new delights each dancing hour employ , Sport follow ...
Page 15
... bosom dies ; From her smooth cheek nectareous dew he sips , And all his soul comes breathing to his lips . But Maia turns her modest eyes away , And blushes to behold their amorous play . She looks again ; and sees , with sad surprize ...
... bosom dies ; From her smooth cheek nectareous dew he sips , And all his soul comes breathing to his lips . But Maia turns her modest eyes away , And blushes to behold their amorous play . She looks again ; and sees , with sad surprize ...
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Common terms and phrases
Abelard Abra amorous tale Arion arms beauteous beauty beneath blest bliss blooming blushing bosom bowers brails breast charms cheek Circassia clan Ross clouds coursers damsel dear death deep delight despair dread ECLOGUE Emma Emma's Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair faithless falchion fame fatal fatal ring fate fear fix'd flame flowers gales glowing golden grace Græme grief groan grove hand haste hear heart heav'n honour Hyperanthes light lord lov'd lover Maia maid morn mournful ne'er night Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er pain pale Palemon Persian plain pleasure Poison'd pow'r pray'r pride rills Rodmond rose rove scene seem'd shade shining shore sighs skies smiles soft soon sorrow soul spread stream sweet swift tears tempest tender Teribazus thee thou thought thro toil touch'd trembling vale venison view'd virtue voice waves weep wind wings woes wretched Xerxes youth
Popular passages
Page 92 - And now, lash'd on by destiny severe, With horror fraught, the dreadful scene drew near! The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death, Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar beneath!— In vain, alas! the sacred shades of yore Would arm the mind with philosophic lore; In vain they'd teach us, at the latest breath, To smile serene amid the pangs of death.
Page 241 - Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat ? Yet, yet I love! — From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd : 10 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies : O write it not my hand — the name appears Already written — wash it out, my tears!
Page 243 - Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. Guiltless I gaz'd ; Heav'n listen'd while you sung ; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move ? Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love : Back thro' the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'da Man.
Page 181 - Oh ! let him alone, For making a blunder, or picking a bone. But hang it - to poets who seldom can eat, Your very good mutton's a very good treat; Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt, It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.
Page 242 - Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Relentless walls ! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains : Ye rugged rocks, which holy knees have worn ; Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn...
Page 246 - Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you : Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Page 254 - Thou, Abelard ! the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day ; See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul ! Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Present the Cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Page 56 - The warbling birds exalt their evening lay : Blithe skipping o'er yon hill, the fleecy train Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain ; The golden lime, and orange, there were seen . On fragrant branches of perpetual green ; The crystal streams that velvet meadows lave, To the green Ocean roll with chiding wave. . The glassy Ocean hushed forgets to roar, But trembling murmurs on the sandy shore...
Page 243 - No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do. Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Page 222 - What is true passion, if unblest it dies ? And where is Emma's joy, if Henry flies ? If love, alas! be pain; the pain I bear No thought can figure, and no tongue declare.