The Works of the British Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volume 11Robert Anderson Arch, 1795 - English poetry |
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Abrocomes Ælla arms Atrides beauty bofom breaft Catcott charms Chatterton Creon death defcending Demaratus Diomed Diomedon epic poetry Ev'n ev'ry fable facred fafe faid fair fame fate fatire fays fcenes feems feen fenfe fhade fhall fhore fhould fide figh fight filent flain fleep flower fmile foft fome fong foon forrow foul fpear fpirit fpread ftands ftill ftrain ftream fuch fwain fweet fwelling fword genius grace Greece hand heart heav'n hero himſelf honour Hyperanthes king Lacedemon laft lefs Leonidas loft maid Medon mind moft moſt mufe muft muſt numbers o'er Oileus paffion plain pleaſe pleaſure poem poet Polydorus pow'r praife praiſe prefent rage reft rife rofe ſhall ſtate ſtill tear Theban Thebes thee thefe theſe thie thofe thoſe thou tow'rs vale virtue warriors whofe wylle wythe Xerxes youth
Popular passages
Page 271 - Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds And nameless deserts, unpoetic ground ! Far from his friends he stray'd, recording thus The dear remembrance of his native fields, To cheer the tedious night ; while slow disease Prey'd on his pining vitals, and the blasts Of dark December shook his humble cot.
Page 293 - Now, Spring returns : but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Page 133 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair...
Page 553 - Those were once my sailors bold, Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, While his dismal tale is told.
Page 264 - Hides from thy scorn its modest head, Shall fill the air with fragrant breath, When thou art in thy dusty bed.
Page 268 - IX. Earl Barnard was of high degree, And lord of many a Lowland hind, And long for Ellen love had he, Had love, but not of gentle kind. From Moray's halls her absent...
Page 215 - Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery baptized in tears.
Page 240 - To heaven she turns in deep despair, Her infants wonder at her prayer, And, mingling tears they know not why, Lift up their little hands, and cry.
Page 553 - Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.
Page 282 - There let me sleep forgotten in the clay, When Death shall shut these weary aching eyes, — Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise.