The Works of the English Poets: YoungH. Hughs, 1779 |
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Page 6
... rage for ruin , In mutual conflict would they rife , and wage Eternal war , till one was quite devour'd . But not for this , ordain'd their boundless rage ; When heaven's inferior inftruments of wrath , War , famine , peftilence , are ...
... rage for ruin , In mutual conflict would they rife , and wage Eternal war , till one was quite devour'd . But not for this , ordain'd their boundless rage ; When heaven's inferior inftruments of wrath , War , famine , peftilence , are ...
Page 33
... rage . What fhall I do ! -- Supprefs it ? or proclaim P Why Sleeps the thunder ? Now , Lorenzo ! now , His best friend's couch the rank adulterer Afcends fecure ; and laughs at gods and men , Prepoferous madmen , void of fear or shame ...
... rage . What fhall I do ! -- Supprefs it ? or proclaim P Why Sleeps the thunder ? Now , Lorenzo ! now , His best friend's couch the rank adulterer Afcends fecure ; and laughs at gods and men , Prepoferous madmen , void of fear or shame ...
Page 61
... rage for plunder make a god ? " And bloodshed wash out every other stain ? — " But You , perhaps , can't bleed : from matter grofs " Your Spirits clean , are delicately clad " In fine - spun Æther , privileg'd to foar , Unloaded ...
... rage for plunder make a god ? " And bloodshed wash out every other stain ? — " But You , perhaps , can't bleed : from matter grofs " Your Spirits clean , are delicately clad " In fine - spun Æther , privileg'd to foar , Unloaded ...
Page 117
... rage ? Here , Madam ! let me vifit one , My fault who , partly , fhares , And tell myself , by telling him , What more becomes our years ; And if your breast with prudent zeal For refignation glows , You will not disapprove a just ...
... rage ? Here , Madam ! let me vifit one , My fault who , partly , fhares , And tell myself , by telling him , What more becomes our years ; And if your breast with prudent zeal For refignation glows , You will not disapprove a just ...
Page 132
... rage , winds ! I know , that Thou Canft fave me by a storm . From Thee immortal spirits born , To Thee , their fountain , flow , If wife ; as curl'd around to theirs Meandering ftreams below : Not lefs compell'd by Reafon's call , To ...
... rage , winds ! I know , that Thou Canft fave me by a storm . From Thee immortal spirits born , To Thee , their fountain , flow , If wife ; as curl'd around to theirs Meandering ftreams below : Not lefs compell'd by Reafon's call , To ...
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Common terms and phrases
Æther art thou beams beneath blefs blifs boaft boaſt boundleſs breaſt Britain Britain's Britannia's caufe cauſe Codrus darkneſs death defcend diftant divine dread earth eternal facred fafe fame fate fatire fcene feas feen fenfe fhall fhine fhould fing firſt fkies flain flame fleep fmile fome fong fons forrow foul fpirits ftars ftill ftreams ftrike fublime fuch fwell genius glorious glory gods golden heart heaven human immortal juſt laſt lefs Lorenzo luftre man's mankind mighty moft mortal moſt Mufe Muſe muſt nature's ne'er night numbers o'er paffion pain paſt peace Pindar pleaſure praife praiſe prefent pride profe proud raiſe reafon refign'd reigns rife ſcene ſhall ſhine ſkies ſmall ſmile ſphere ſpread ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtill ſtorm thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand throne thunder Trade virtue Voltaire whofe Whoſe wing wiſdom
Popular passages
Page 6 - By the loud trumpet summon'd to the charge, See, all the formidable sons of fire, Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play Their various engines ; all at once disgorge Their blazing magazines ; and take, by storm, This poor terrestrial citadel of man.
Page 4 - What is the world itself? thy world — a grave. Where is the dust that has not been alive ? The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors. From human mould we reap our daily bread. The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons. O'er devastation we blind revels keep : Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel.
Page 74 - Man's rich restorative ; his balmy bath, That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play The various movements of this nice machine, Which asks such frequent periods of repair. When tir'd with vain rotations of the day, Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn ; Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels, Or Death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends.
Page 1 - Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords, And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, Till the due season calls him to repose : Thus I...
Page 205 - If satire charms, strike faults, but spare the man : 'Tis dull to be as witty as you can. Satire recoils whenever charg'd too high ; Round your own fame the fatal splinters fly. As the soft plume gives swiftness to the dart, Good breeding sends the satire to the heart.
Page 214 - In aweful ruin, like Rome's fenate, fall, The prey and worfhip of the wondering Gaul. No doubt, to genius fome reward is due, (Excluding that, were fatirizing you ;) But yet, believe thy undefigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Though both have weight when in the balance caft, Let probity be firft, and parts the laft.
Page 50 - Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly ? Has matter innate motion ! Then each atom, Asserting its indisputable right To dance, would form an universe of dust.
Page 8 - From tenfold darkness ; sudden as the spark From smitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze. Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more ! The day is broke, which never more shall close...
Page 26 - From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight ! Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
Page 9 - Heaven opens in their bosoms : but how rare, Ah me ! that magnanimity, how rare ! What hero, like the man who stands himself; Who dares to meet his naked heart alone ; Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, Resolv'd to silence future murmurs there ? The coward flies- and, flying, is undone. (Art thou a coward ? no :) the coward flies ; Thinks, but thinks slightly ; asks, but fears to know : Asks