Practical English Prosody and Versification: Or, Descriptions of the Different Species of English Verse, with Exercises in Scanning and Versification ... Calculated to Produce Correctness of Ear and Taste in Reading and Writing Poetry ...

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Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1816 - English language - 261 pages

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Page 232 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Page 233 - Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more.
Page 195 - FATHER of all ! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! Thou great first Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind...
Page 19 - Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superior strength, Man vainly trusts his own. But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast ; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
Page v - T' arrest the fleeting images that fill The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, And force them sit till he has pencil'd off A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; Then to dispose his copies with such art, That each may find its most propitious...
Page 81 - His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage ; In summer's heat and winter's cold He fed his flock and penn'd the fold : His hours in cheerful labour flew. Nor envy nor ambition knew : His wisdom and his honest fame Through all the country rais'd his name.
Page 232 - I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, I start at the sound of my own.
Page 73 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden -flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year...
Page 32 - Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; Kind nature the embryo blossom will save.

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