The Works of the English Poets, Volume 26Samuel Johnson C. Bathurst, 1779 |
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Page 15
... liftening fhepherds on the distant shore , While much they fear , what ills it fhould portend , And wonder why the watery gods contend . 225 } 230 } 235 High in the midft , Britannia's warlike chief , Too ON THE QUEEN'S SUCCESS . 15.
... liftening fhepherds on the distant shore , While much they fear , what ills it fhould portend , And wonder why the watery gods contend . 225 } 230 } 235 High in the midft , Britannia's warlike chief , Too ON THE QUEEN'S SUCCESS . 15.
Page 74
... shore : None prefuming to withstand Thy celeftial armed hand , While , his facred head to fhade , The blended cross on high thy filver shield display'd . VI . But oh what other form divine Propitious near the hero feems to fhine ! Peace ...
... shore : None prefuming to withstand Thy celeftial armed hand , While , his facred head to fhade , The blended cross on high thy filver shield display'd . VI . But oh what other form divine Propitious near the hero feems to fhine ! Peace ...
Page 98
... shore , Now turn'd Nile's fattening streams to putrid gore ; Plenty and gladnefs mark'd the prieft of God , And fudden almonds fhot from Aaron's rod . O thou , from whom these bounteous bleffings flow , To whom , as chief , the hopes of ...
... shore , Now turn'd Nile's fattening streams to putrid gore ; Plenty and gladnefs mark'd the prieft of God , And fudden almonds fhot from Aaron's rod . O thou , from whom these bounteous bleffings flow , To whom , as chief , the hopes of ...
Page 110
... , And fcorn'd for gold to yield th ' important town . His fon was born the ravish'd prey to claim , And France ftill trembles at an Harley's name . I A fort A fort fo dreadful to our English shore , Our 110 POEM S. TICKELL'S.
... , And fcorn'd for gold to yield th ' important town . His fon was born the ravish'd prey to claim , And France ftill trembles at an Harley's name . I A fort A fort fo dreadful to our English shore , Our 110 POEM S. TICKELL'S.
Page 111
Samuel Johnson. A fort fo dreadful to our English shore , Our fleets scarce fear'd the fands or tempefts more , Whose vaft expences to fuch fums amount , That the tax'd Gaul fcarce furnish'd out th ' account , Whofe walls fuch bulwarks ...
Samuel Johnson. A fort fo dreadful to our English shore , Our fleets scarce fear'd the fands or tempefts more , Whose vaft expences to fuch fums amount , That the tax'd Gaul fcarce furnish'd out th ' account , Whofe walls fuch bulwarks ...
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Common terms and phrases
Ah willow Albion's arms Atreus Atrides beneath blefs bleft blood boaſt breaſt Britain's Britannia's Britiſh brow Cæfar's cauſe charms crown diftant divine doft dreadful Ev'n eyes facred fafe faid fair fam'd fame fate fatire fceptre fcorn fear feas fecret fhade fhall fhining fhore fhould fide fight filent fing fire firft firſt fix'd flain fleep fmiling foes fome fong footh foul ftand ftill ftreams fuch fwain fweet fwell fword Gaul goddeſs gods grace hand heart heaven hecatomb hero himſelf Iliad Jove juſt kings lefs lyre maid monarch mortal Mufe Muſe muſt ne'er Nereids numbers nymph o'er paffion peace pleaſure praiſe pride prieſt race rage raiſe reign rife riſe ſhade ſhall ſhare ſhe ſhine ſhore ſkies ſmile ſpeak ſpread ſpring ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtill ſtood ſweet thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou thought thouſand verſe whofe whoſe youth
Popular passages
Page 187 - Oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires ! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Page 195 - Tyber's fhore, (Nor mean the tafk) each breathing buft explore, Line after line with painful patience trace, This Roman grandeur, that Athenian grace ; Vain care of parts ; if, impotent of foul, Th...
Page 53 - The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. " Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, Be finest at...
Page 189 - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh ! if sometimes thy spotless form descend : To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend ! When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart ; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
Page 124 - O'er his paternal hills of snow, And into these tremendous speeches Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Page 206 - The Sun's meridian rays Veil the horizon in one mighty blaze : Nor moon nor star in Heaven's blue arch is seen With kindly rays to silver o'er the green, Grateful to fairy eyes ; they secret take Their rest, and only wretched mortals wake.
Page 120 - And view the hero with insatiate eyes. ' In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales Propitious rise to swell the British sails. Hither the fame of England's monarch brings The vows and friendships of the neighb'ring kings; Mature in wisdom, his extensive mind Takes in the blended interests of mankind, The world's great patriot.
Page 190 - If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove: Twas there of Just and Good he...
Page 109 - Accept, great Anne, the tears their memory draws, Who nobly perish'd in their sovereign's cause : For thou in pity bid'st the war give o'er, Mourn'st thy slain heroes, nor wilt venture more. Vast price of blood on each victorious day ! (But Europe's freedom doth that price repay.) Lamented triumphs ! when one breath must tell That Marlborough conquer'd, and that Dormer fell.
Page 200 - Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric, stands, And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To gravel walks, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies ; Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow, And chints, the rival of the showery bow.