Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others

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G. P. Putnam's sons, 1890 - English poetry - 341 pages

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Page 309 - And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.
Page 308 - Echo still through all the song ; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair...
Page 24 - Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,' This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle. Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parishStocks for a vagrant.
Page 239 - Association for promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa...
Page 24 - Was it the squire for killing of his game? or Covetous parson for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little All in a lawsuit? (Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall as soon as you have told your Pitiful story.
Page 309 - Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung — The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known...
Page 23 - Needy knife-grinder ! whither are you going ? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order — Bleak blows the blast • — your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches ! " Weary knife-grinder ! little think the proud ones Who in their coaches roll along the turnpikeroad, what hard work 'tis crying all day, ' Knives and Scissors to grind O...
Page 168 - From the Spaniards' late defeat, And his crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England's fleet ; On a sudden, shrilly sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; Then, each heart with fear confounding, A sad troop of ghosts...
Page 131 - And bade to form her infant mind. Stern, rugged Nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore ; What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others
Page 132 - Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound, my heart. The generous spark extinct revive Teach me to love, and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man.

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