The poetical works of William Somervile, with the life of the author. Cooke's ed

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Page 213 - Heavens ! what melodious strains ! how beat our hearts, Big with tumultuous joy ! the loaded gales Breathe harmony; and, as the tempest drives, From wood to wood, through every dark recess, The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
Page 215 - Observe yon birds of prey ; if I can judge, 'Tis there the villain lurks ; they hover round And claim him as their own. Was I not right...
Page 208 - Now high in air the imperial standard waves, Emblazon'd rich with gold, and glittering gems ; And, like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom Streaming meteorous. The soldiers' shouts, And all the brazen instruments of war, With mutual clamour, and united din, Fill the large concave : while, from camp to camp, They catch the varied sounds, floating in air.
Page 215 - Stretch'd at his feet, applauds the glorious deed, And grateful calls us to a short repast...
Page 231 - Unnumber'd accidents, and various ills, Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads, And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave. Short is their span; few at the date arrive Of ancient Argus, in old Homer's song So highly honour'd: kind, sagacious brute!
Page 216 - The jest of clowns, his reeking carcass hangs. Of these are various kinds ; not even the king Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave: But by the wily African betray'd, Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws Expires indignant.
Page 191 - Warn'd by the streaming light, and merry lark, Forth rush the jolly clan ; with tuneful throats They carol loud, and, in grand chorus join'd, Salute the new-born day. For not alone The vegetable world, but men and brutes Own his reviving influence, and joy At his approach. Fountain of light ! if chance Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow, In vain the Muses aid, untouch'd, unstrung, Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard Sits darkly musing o'er the unfinish'd lay.
Page 13 - Britons' To free the Danube and the Rhine ; Who by the thunder of his arms Shook the proud Rhone with loud alarms. And rais'da tempest in the trembling Seine.
Page 19 - While she supports her flight with Stanhope's name. What though majestic Milton stands alone, Inimitably great! Bow low, ye bards ! at his exalted throne, And lay your labours at his feet. Capacious soul ! whose boundless thoughts survey Heaven, hell, earth, sea; Lo ! where the' embattled gods appear, The mountains from their seats they tear, And shake the' empyreal heavens with impious war.
Page 54 - Gay scenes of new delight. At length the fowler came, (The knave was much to blame) And this dear pair trepann'd ; Both in one cage confin'd : 'Why, faith and troth, 'twas kind ; Nay, hold— -that must be scann'd.

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