The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.]. |
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Page
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war , The Roinan Cęsars and the Gręcian
chiefs , The boast of story ? where the hot - brain ' d youth , Who the tiara at his
pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover ' d globe ; . And cried , forsooth ...
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war , The Roinan Cęsars and the Gręcian
chiefs , The boast of story ? where the hot - brain ' d youth , Who the tiara at his
pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover ' d globe ; . And cried , forsooth ...
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... And gives it a new pulse unknown before ! The Grave discredits thee : thy
charms expung ' u , Thy roses faded , and thy lilies soild , What hast thou mcre to
boast of ? Will thy lovers Flock round thee now , to gaze and do thee THE GRAVE
.
... And gives it a new pulse unknown before ! The Grave discredits thee : thy
charms expung ' u , Thy roses faded , and thy lilies soild , What hast thou mcre to
boast of ? Will thy lovers Flock round thee now , to gaze and do thee THE GRAVE
.
Page 1
Look , how the fair one weeps ! the conscious tears Stand thick as dew - drops on
the bells of How ' rs : . . Honest effusion ! the swoln heart in vain . . Works hard to
put a gloss on its distress . . Strength too ! thou surly , and less gentle boast .
Look , how the fair one weeps ! the conscious tears Stand thick as dew - drops on
the bells of How ' rs : . . Honest effusion ! the swoln heart in vain . . Works hard to
put a gloss on its distress . . Strength too ! thou surly , and less gentle boast .
Page 8
Hark ! thus death speaks ; ingenious sons of men , Why boast the chissel , pencil
, or the pen ? Will fame , who oft denies her children bread , Deceive the living ,
discompose the dead i No ; fame ' s a breath , it cannot worth supply , Nor yield ...
Hark ! thus death speaks ; ingenious sons of men , Why boast the chissel , pencil
, or the pen ? Will fame , who oft denies her children bread , Deceive the living ,
discompose the dead i No ; fame ' s a breath , it cannot worth supply , Nor yield ...
Page 45
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war , The Roman Cęsars and the Gręcian
chiefs , The boast of story ? where the hot - braind youth , Who the tiara at his
pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover ' d globe ; And cried , forsooth ...
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war , The Roman Cęsars and the Gręcian
chiefs , The boast of story ? where the hot - braind youth , Who the tiara at his
pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover ' d globe ; And cried , forsooth ...
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The Grave, a Poem. to Which Are Added an Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by ... Robert Blair No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
aged bear beneath blood boast breath cheer close comes common course dark dead Death deep dread drops dust earth ev'n ev'ry face fair fall fame fire gentle give grave half hand happy hard hast head hear heart Heav'n hope horrors hour joys keep Labour leave lies life's live look mankind Mark means meet mighty nature ne'er never night o'er once pain path Peace poor pow'r proud realms rest rise rose round rude ruin Save scarce shade short sight silence smile sons soon soul sound spoils stand steps stone stood strange stream sudden Sure sweet tell thee thick thine thing thou thought thousand thro toil tomb warm weary Whilst whole winds wreck wretch yonder youth
Popular passages
Page 8 - 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. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Page 8 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph 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.
Page 8 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page 8 - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Page 8 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
Bibliographic information
| Title | The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.]. |
| Author | Robert Blair |
| Published | 1804 |
| Original from | Oxford University |
| Digitized | 21 Jun 2007 |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |