The Oxford Book of Eighteenth Century VerseDavid Nichol Smith Clarendon Press, 1926 - 727 pages |
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Common terms and phrases
auld lang syne beauty beneath bless blest bliss bloom bosom breast breath busk charms chearful Cumnor dear Death delight divine e'er Ev'n ev'ry eyes fair Fame Fancy Fate fear flowers frae Glory grace grave green Grongar Hill grove hand happy hear heart Heart of Oak Heav'n hill hour King live Lord lov'd lyre maid maun mind morning mourn Muse Nature's ne'er never night numbers Nymph o'er Olney Hymns pain Passion peace Pity plain pleas'd pleasure Poems poor pow'r praise pride rise round scene Scots Musical Museum shade shine sigh sing smile soft Song Sonnet sorrow soul Spring strain stream swain sweet tears tell thee thine thou thought thro toil Twas vale Virtue voice wave wawking weep wild wind wings wou'd wyllowe Yarrow ynne youth
Popular passages
Page 373 - E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Page 55 - A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone ; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun.
Page 551 - Where is the blessedness I knew When first I saw the Lord ? Where is the soul-refreshing view Of Jesus and his word ? What peaceful hours I once enjoyed ! How sweet their memory still ! But they have left an aching void, The world can never fill.
Page 371 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress d their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Page 132 - Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes...
Page 120 - KNOW then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great : With too much knowledge for the sceptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reasoning but to err...
Page 372 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
Page 489 - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, » And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, O, how canst thou renounce^ and hope to be forgiven ! These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy,...
Page 668 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 118 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescrib'd, their present state; From brutes what men, from men, what spirits know Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.