Select Works of the British Poets, in a Chronological Series from Ben Jonson to Beattie: With Biographical and Critical Notices
T. Wardle, 1843 - English poetry - 807 pages
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angels appear arms bear beauty behold bound breath bright clouds dark death deep delight dread Earth eyes face fair fall fame fate fear field fire flame force give glory grace hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart Heaven hills honor hope kind king land laws leave less light live look Lord lost mind morn Muse Nature never night o'er once pain passion peace plain pleasure pride race rage reason rest rise round sense shade side sight soft song soon soul sound spirit spread stand stood stream sweet tell thee things thou thought till turn various virtue voice wide wild winds wings wise woods youth
Page 19 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; And, with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear...
Page 58 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair: thyself how wondrous then, Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels: for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures...
Page 20 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise...
Page 44 - Eternal coeternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate! Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Page 363 - Great in the earth as in th" ethereal frame; Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent. Spreads undivided, operates unspent : Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part. As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns. As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills. he bounds, connects, and equals all.
Page 31 - What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell : Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.
Page 383 - 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...
Page 18 - Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry ; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon...
Page 44 - Yet not the more Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit...
Page 146 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small...