The Village Curate: A Poem ...

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J. Johnson, 1790 - 144 pages

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Page 45 - A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without : No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join ; his little beak was all, And yet how neatly finished ! What nice hand, With every implement and means of art, And twenty years...
Page 1 - OF Man's firft difobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whofe mortal tafte Brought death into the world, and all our woe.
Page 32 - Eliza come, and let us o'er the fields, Across the down, or through the shelving wood, Wind our uncertain way. Let fancy lead, And be it ours to follow, and admire, As well we may, the graces infinite Of nature.
Page 57 - ... lane, To hear thy song so various, gentle bird, Sweet queen of night, transporting Philomel. I name thee not to give my feeble line A grace else wanted, for I love thy song, And often have I stood to hear it sung, When the clear moon, -with Cytherean smile Emerging from an eastern cloud, has shot A look of pure benevolence and joy Into the heart of night. Yes, I have stood And mark'd thy varied note, and frequent pause, Thy brisk and melancholy mood, with soul Sincerely pleas'd.
Page 41 - Her solo anthem sung, and all who heard Content, joins in the chorus of the day. She, gentle heart, thinks it no pain to please, Nor, like the moody songsters of the world, Displays her talent, pleases, takes affront, And locks it up in envy.
Page 40 - And by the way attend the cheerful sound Of woodland harmony, that always fills The merry vale between. How sweet the song Day's harbinger attunes ! I have not heard Such elegant divisions drawn from art. And what is he that...
Page 46 - How good, how fair, how honourable 'tis To live by industry. The busy tribes Of bees so emulous are daily fed With heaven's peculiar manna. Tis for them, Unwearied alchymists, the blooming world Nectareous gold distils. And bounteous heav'n, Still to the diligent and active good, Their very labour makes the certain cause Of future wealth.
Page 37 - All gold; anon he doffs his gaudy suit, Touch'd by the magic hand of some grave Bishop, And all at once, by commutation strange, Becomes a Reverend Divine. How sleek! How full of grace ! and in that globous wig, So nicely trimm'd, unfathomable stores, No doubt, of erudition most profound. Each hair is learned, and his awful phiz, A well-drawn title-page, gives large account Of matters strangely complicate within. Place the two doctors each by each, my friends, Which is the better ? say. I blame not...
Page 45 - Who at the roof begins her golden work, And builds without foundation. How she toils, And still from bud to bud, from flow'r to flow'r, Travels the livelong day.
Page 44 - Making rude courtlhip to his negro mate. Oh, he's a flatterer, and in his fong, If fuch it may be call'd, her charms recitesŤ He tells her of her bofom black as jet, Her taper leg, her penetrating eye, Her length of beak, her foft and filky wing, Her voice fo tunable ; then waddles round, Begins again, and hopes fhe will be kind. But all in vain. Alarm'd he claps his wing, And flies ; (he, much againft her will, purlues.

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