The British poets: including translations ...

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C. Whittingham, 1822 - Classical poetry
 

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Page 284 - Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly, and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
Page 31 - That every man, with him, was God or devil. In squandering wealth was his peculiar art; Nothing went unrewarded, but desert. Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late; He had his jest, and they had his estate.
Page 285 - The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uprooted left their place. Sequacious of the lyre ; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : When to her organ vocal breath was given, An angel heard, and straight appeared, Mistaking earth for heaven.
Page 96 - Follow'd false lights; and, when their glimpse was gone, My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. Such was I, such by nature still I am; Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. Good life be now my task: my doubts are done (What more could fright my faith, than three in one?) Can I believe eternal God could lie Disguis'd in mortal mold and infancy?
Page 15 - Promiscuous use of concubine and bride ; Then Israel's monarch after heaven's own heart, His vigorous warmth did variously impart To wives and slaves ; and wide as his command, Scatter'd his Maker's image through the land.
Page 20 - In friendship false, implacable in hate, Resolved to ruin or to rule the state...
Page 30 - Nothing to build, and all things to destroy. But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much. These out of mere instinct, they knew not why, Adored their fathers...
Page 259 - Another's diving bow he did adore, Which with a shog casts all the hair before, Till he, with full decorum, brings it back, And rises with a water-spaniel shake. As for his songs, the ladies' dear delight, These sure he took from most of you who write.
Page 20 - He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. Great wits are sure to madness near allied, And thin partitions do their bounds divide...
Page 94 - A MILK-WHITE Hind, immortal and unchanged, Fed on the lawns and in the forest ranged ; Without unspotted, innocent within, She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.

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