Poetical Works: With a Memoir, Volume 4

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Little, Brown & Company, 1866
 

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Page 104 - The country rings around with loud alarms, And raw in fields the rude militia swarms; Mouths without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence ; Stout once a month they march, a blustering band, And ever, but in times of need, at hand ; This was the morn when, issuing on the guard, Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepared Of seeming arms to make a short essay, Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day.
Page 43 - And oft, with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears, (A music more melodious than the spheres,) For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre ; and after him he sung the best.
Page 39 - Content is wealth, the riches of the mind; And happy he who can that treasure find. But the base miser starves amidst his store, Broods on his gold, and, griping still at more. Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor.
Page 45 - His preaching much, but more his practice wrought ; (A living sermon of the truths he taught ;) For this by rules severe his life he squared : That all might see the doctrine which they heard.
Page 300 - But suffer inmate souls secure to dwell, Lest from their seats your parents you expel; With rabid hunger feed upon your kind, Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind.
Page 91 - Nor can we write without it, nor would you A tale of only dry instruction view ; Nor love is always of a vicious kind, But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind, Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul, And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool.
Page 160 - Impatient to revenge her injur'd bed, She wreaks her anger on her rival's head; With Furies frights her from her native home ; And drives her gadding, round the world to roam : Nor ceas'd her madness, and her flight, before She touch'd the limits of the Pharian shore.
Page 260 - Dost thou not blush, to spend thy shafts in vain On a degenerate and ignoble train ? If fame, or better vengeance, be thy care, There aim : and, with one arrow, end the war.
Page 93 - The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose : The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose.
Page 10 - And like the heralds each his scutcheon bore : Clad in white velvet all their troop they led, With each an oaken chaplet on his head. Nine royal knights in equal rank succeed, Each warrior mounted on a fiery steed ; In golden armour glorious to behold ; The rivets of their arms were nail'd with gold. Their surcoats of white ermin fur were made, With cloth of...

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