The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair, and Falconer: With Lives, Critical Dissertations, and Explanatory Notes |
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alarms appear arms bear beauty beneath blast bloom bosom breast breath bursts charms clouds course dark death deep distress dreadful eternal eyes fair fame Fancy fate fear feel fire flame flies flowers gale glory glow grave grove hand happy haste head hear heart Heaven hope horrors hour land laws light living look mast melting mind mourn Muse nature never night o'er once pain path peace plain poem pride rage rise roll round ruin sacred sail scene severe shade ship shore side skies smile soft song soon soul sound spread springs stand storm strain stream sweet tale tear tell thee thine thou thought thundering tide toil trembling truth vain vale virtue voice wandering wave wild wind wings yard young youth
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Page 4 - 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, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! X.
Page 2 - 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 ! ii.
Page 13 - 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 136 - Invidious grave ! — how dost thou rend in sunder Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one ! A tie more stubborn far than nature's band. Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul; 88 Sweetener of life, and solder of society ! I owe thee much : thou hast deserved from me, Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. Oft have I proved the labours of thy love, And the warm efforts of the gentle heart, Anxious to please.
Page 256 - Again she plunges! hark! a second shock Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock. Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes In wild despair; while yet another stroke With deep convulsion rends the solid oak; Till like the mine, in whose infernal cell The lurking demons of destruction dwell, At length asunder torn, her frame divides, And crashing spreads in ruin o'er the tides.
Page 256 - Maro's art To wake to sympathy the feeling heart ; Like him the smooth and mournful verse to dress In all the pomp of exquisite distress, Then too severely taught by cruel fate, To share in all the perils I relate, Then might I with...
Page 6 - To the fond husband and the faithful wife. Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life They never roam'd: secure beneath the storm Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife, Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.
Page 208 - When orient dews impearl th' enamelled lawn; Than from his sides in bright suffusion flow, That now with gold empyreal seem to glow; Now in pellucid sapphires meet the view, And emulate the soft celestial hue ; Now beam a flaming crimson on the eye, And now assume the purple's deeper dye : But here description clouds each shining ray, What terms of Art can Nature's powers display...
Page 88 - And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all gloiving in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
Page 25 - 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 bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.