The Works of the English Poets, Volume 16

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Samuel Johnson
H. Hughs, 1779 - English poetry
 

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Page 18 - High o'er the hearth a chine of bacon hung; Good old Philemon seized it with a prong, And from the sooty rafter drew it down, Then cut a slice, but scarce enough for one; Yet a large portion of a little Store, Which for their sakes alone he wish'd were more.
Page 309 - Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar; Not that another's pain is our delight, But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. Tis pleasant also to behold from far The moving legions mingled in the war; But much more sweet thy labouring steps to guide To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied, And all the magazines of learning fortified...
Page 62 - The shape of him who suffered in the storm, And send it flitting to the Trachin court, The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report : Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand, Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand.
Page 22 - Speak thy desire, thou only just of men ; And thou, O woman, only worthy found To be with such a man in marriage bound.
Page 322 - What is't to me, Who never sail in her unfaithful sea, If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; , If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? Then let the greedy merchant fear For his ill-gotten gain ; And pray to gods that will not hear, While the debating winds and billows bear His wealth into the main.
Page 141 - I, who these mysterious truths declare, Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war; My name, and lineage I remember well, And how in fight by Sparta's king I fell. In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former shield. Then, death, so call'd, is but old matter dress'd In some new figure, and a vary'd vest: Thus all things are but alter'd, nothing dies; And here, and there th* unbody'd spirit flies.
Page 154 - When grown to manhood he begins his reign, And with stiff pinions can his flight sustain, He lightens of its load the tree that bore His father's royal sepulchre before, And his own cradle: This (with pious care) Plac'd on his back, he cuts the buxom air, Seeks the Sun's city, and his sacred church.
Page 271 - What English readers, unacquainted with Greek or Latin, will believe me, or any other man, when we commend those authors, and confess we derive all that is pardonable in us from their fountains, if they take those to be the same poets whom our Oglebys have translated...
Page 84 - The hero snatch'd it up, and toss'd in air Full at the front of the foul ravisher : He falls, and falling vomits forth a flood Of wine, and foam, and brains, and mingled blood. Half roaring, and half neighing through the hall, Arms, arms ! the double-form'd with fury call, To wreak their brother's death.
Page 13 - Just then the hero cast a doleful cry, And in those absent flames began to fry . The blind contagion rag'd within his veins But he with manly patience bore his pains ; He fear'd not fate, but only griev'd to die Without an honest wound, and by a death so dry. Happy Ancseus, thrice aloud he cried, With what becoming fate in arms he died...

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