The poetical works of James Beattie

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Bell and Daldy, 1871 - 244 pages
 

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Page 5 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep, where Fame's proud temple shines afar? Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war? Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown ! And yet, the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all.
Page 13 - And be it so. Let those deplore their doom. Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ? Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed. Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. " Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive...
Page 17 - Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings ; The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and hark ! Down the rough slope the ponderous...
Page 8 - Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! x.
Page 4 - THE design wag to trace the progress of a Poetical Genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a Minstrel...
Page 10 - But why should I his childish feats display ? Concourse, and noise, and toil he ever fled, Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps ; but to the forest sped...
Page 20 - Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, Scarce fill the circle of one summer day, Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage, Exclaim that Nature hastens to decay, If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray, If but a momentary shower descend ! Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay, Which bade the series of events extend Wide through unnumber'd worlds, and ages without end!
Page 17 - But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Page 29 - Let vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown ; Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green, grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrewn, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave ; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
Page 11 - And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey^ And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn ; Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for a while ; And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, And villager abroad at early toil. But, lo ! the sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.

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