The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, 50. köide

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Samuel Johnson
C. Bathurst, 1779
 

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Page 212 - Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze ; To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, And triumphs in the fulness of his might ; High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar, And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; And mocks at death, and throws his foam around, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground.
Page 225 - Rome swift thunder flew, And headlong from his throne the tyrant threw : Thrown headlong down, by Rome in triumph led, For this night's deed his perjur'd bosom bled : His brother's ghost each moment made him start, And all his father's anguish rent his heart.
Page 86 - Is there a man of an eternal vein, "Who lulls the town in winter with his strain, At Bath, in summer, chants the reigning...
Page 110 - Such shining expletives of human kind, Who want, while through blank life they dream along, Sense to be right and passion to be wrong.
Page 212 - But, fiercer still, the lordly lion stalks, Grimly majestic in his lonely walks ; When round he glares, all living creatures fly; He clears the desert with his rolling eye.
Page 139 - tis on plenty your poor lovers starve. But with a modern fair, meridian merit Is a fierce thing they call a nymph of spirit. Mark well the rollings of her flaming eye, And tread on tiptoe if you dare draw nigh: 50 "Or if you take a lion by the beard, Or dare defy the fell Hyrcanian pard, Or arm'd rhinoceros, or rough Russian bear," First make your will, and then converse with her.
Page 223 - Views the pale cheek and the distorted mien ; He drains off life by drops, and, deaf to cries, Examines every spirit as it flies : He studies torment, dives in mortal woe, To rouse up every pang repeats his blow ; Each rising agony, each dreadful grace, Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour's face.
Page 89 - But found at length that it reduc'd his rent ; His farms were flown ; when, lo ! a sale comes on, A choice collection ! what is to be done ? He sells his last ; for he the whole will buy ; Sells...
Page 79 - It aids the dancer's heel, the writer's head, And heaps the plain with mountains of the dead ; Nor ends with life ; but nods in sable plumes, Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs.
Page 169 - The naval crown Is all his own ! Our fleet, if War or Commerce call, His will performs Through waves and storms, And rides in triumph round the ball.

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