The British poetical miscellany |
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Page 7
How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not , To whom related , or by whom begot ; A heap of duft alone remains of thee , ' Tis all thou art , and all the proud shall be ! Poets themselves muft fall like those they fung , Deaf the ...
How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not , To whom related , or by whom begot ; A heap of duft alone remains of thee , ' Tis all thou art , and all the proud shall be ! Poets themselves muft fall like those they fung , Deaf the ...
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Common terms and phrases
arms beneath bleffing bofom breaſt breath bright bring BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY charms child cold dead dear death deep delight dread E'en ev'ry eyes face fair fame fate fear feel fhade fhall fhould figh filent fire flow flow'r fmile fome foon forrow foul ftill fuch fweet give grave grief hand head hear heard heart Heav'n hope hour kind laft land light live loft look maid mind morn mourn native nature never night o'er once paffion pain peace pity poor pow'r pride rife round tear tell tender thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought toil trembling turn Twas vale virtue voice wave weeping whofe whoſe wife wild wind young youth
Popular passages
Page 11 - 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 1 - 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 11 - 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 8 - 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.
Bibliographic information
| Title | The British poetical miscellany |
| Author | British poetical miscellany |
| Publisher | Sikes & Company, 1805 |
| Original from | Oxford University |
| Digitized | Sep 26, 2006 |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |