The British poetical miscellanySikes & Company, 1805 |
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Page 10
... tremble to hear " The hoarfe ivy fhake over my head ; " And could fancy I faw , half perfuaded by fear , " Some ugly old abbot's white fpirit appear ; " For this wind might awaken the dead . ” " I'll wager a dinner , " the other one cry ...
... tremble to hear " The hoarfe ivy fhake over my head ; " And could fancy I faw , half perfuaded by fear , " Some ugly old abbot's white fpirit appear ; " For this wind might awaken the dead . ” " I'll wager a dinner , " the other one cry ...
Page 11
... trembling feet , Then fays Thy name I do implore ? " The ready bird replies - Tom Moore . " O Lord ! " the frighten'd clown replies , With hair erect and staring eyes : Half - op'ning then the hovel door , He afks the bird one queftion ...
... trembling feet , Then fays Thy name I do implore ? " The ready bird replies - Tom Moore . " O Lord ! " the frighten'd clown replies , With hair erect and staring eyes : Half - op'ning then the hovel door , He afks the bird one queftion ...
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... Pity the forrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan ; Oh [ 5 ] Elegy on my dying Afs, Peter Peter Pindar The Beggar's Petition Percival.
... Pity the forrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan ; Oh [ 5 ] Elegy on my dying Afs, Peter Peter Pindar The Beggar's Petition Percival.
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British poetical miscellany. " Pity the forrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whofe days are dwindled to the fshortest span ; Oh ! give relief , and Heav'n will bless your ftore . " " Enter , my ...
British poetical miscellany. " Pity the forrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whofe days are dwindled to the fshortest span ; Oh ! give relief , and Heav'n will bless your ftore . " " Enter , my ...
Page 6
... trembling friend ? Ah ! draws thy little luftre to its end ? Yes , on thy frame fate too fhall fix her seal— O let me , penfive , watch thy pale decay ; How faft that frame , fo tender , wears away ! How fast thy life the reftlefs ...
... trembling friend ? Ah ! draws thy little luftre to its end ? Yes , on thy frame fate too fhall fix her seal— O let me , penfive , watch thy pale decay ; How faft that frame , fo tender , wears away ! How fast thy life the reftlefs ...
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Common terms and phrases
anguiſh Bad Company behold beneath black crows bleffing bleft bofom breaſt breath BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY caft CHARLOTTE SMITH charms cloſe cold cry'd dear death defpair diftant doft dread dy'd E'en ev'ry eyes facred faid fair fate fcene fear feek feen fhade fhall fhore fhould fide figh filent fink fkies fleep flow'r fmile foft fome fong fons foon foothe forrow foul fpirits ftill ftranger ftream fuch fure fweet fwell grave grief hand hear heart Heav'n hour laft laſt life's loft lov'd maid morn mourn muft muſt ne'er o'er paffion pain peace PINDAR pity pleaſure poor pow'r reft rife rofe Sally Green ſcene ſhall ſhe ſkies ſky ſmile ſpot ſpread ſweet tear tender thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou toil tomb trembling Twas vale weeping whofe Whoſe wild wind wretched youth
Popular passages
Page 4 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 4 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 1 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 2 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 7 - How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Page 1 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 6 - What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show?
Page 9 - Why did all-creating Nature Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards ; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.