An essay on light reading, as it may be supposed to influence moral conduct and literary taste

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Page 176 - And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart or strike for honest fame...
Page 175 - And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Page 168 - While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ; — The slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain — A new creation rescued from his reign.
Page 167 - To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The...
Page 181 - But urg'd by storms along its slippery way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art! Thou...
Page 188 - British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of universal emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced ; no matter what complexion incompatible with freedom, an Indian or an African sun may have...
Page 174 - As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 189 - No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced; no matter what complexion incompatible with freedom an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him; no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down; no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of Slavery; the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust...
Page 183 - Tis morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb Ascending, fires the horizon ; while the clouds, That crowd away before the driving wind, More ardent as the disk emerges more, Resemble most some city in a blaze, Seen through the leafless wood.
Page 188 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall.

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