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 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 5
Fond couple ! link ' d more close than wedded pair ; This wings its way to its
Almighty Source , The witness of its actions , now its judge ; That drops into the
dark and noisome grave , Like a disabled pitcher of no use . If death was nothing
, and ...
Fond couple ! link ' d more close than wedded pair ; This wings its way to its
Almighty Source , The witness of its actions , now its judge ; That drops into the
dark and noisome grave , Like a disabled pitcher of no use . If death was nothing
, and ...
Page 8
Forgive the tear That feeble Nature drops , calm all her fears , Wake all her hopes
, and animate ' her faith , Till my ' rapt Soul , anticipating Heav ' n , Bursts from the
thraldrom of incumbering clay , And on the wing of Ecstacy upborne , Springs ...
Forgive the tear That feeble Nature drops , calm all her fears , Wake all her hopes
, and animate ' her faith , Till my ' rapt Soul , anticipating Heav ' n , Bursts from the
thraldrom of incumbering clay , And on the wing of Ecstacy upborne , Springs ...
Page 45
Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man She drops ; whilst busy meddling
memory , In barbarojis succession , musters up The past endearments of their
softer hours , Tenacious of its theme . Still , still she thinks She sees him , and
indulging ...
Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man She drops ; whilst busy meddling
memory , In barbarojis succession , musters up The past endearments of their
softer hours , Tenacious of its theme . Still , still she thinks She sees him , and
indulging ...
Page 11
Look , how the fair one weeps ! the conscious tears Stand thick as dew - drops on
the bells of flow ' rs : Honest effusion ! the swoln heart in vain Works hard to put a
gloss on its distress . Ștrength too ! thou surly , and less gentle boast Of those ...
Look , how the fair one weeps ! the conscious tears Stand thick as dew - drops on
the bells of flow ' rs : Honest effusion ! the swoln heart in vain Works hard to put a
gloss on its distress . Ștrength too ! thou surly , and less gentle boast Of those ...
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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...