The Poetical Works of James Beattie

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Little, Brown,, 1854 - 239 pages

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Page 10 - O 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, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, And love, and gentleness, and joy impart.
Page 22 - 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 - Thence musing onward to the sounding shore, The lone enthusiast oft would take his way, Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array When sulphurous clouds roll'd on th...
Page 45 - Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel/ XXV. At early dawn the youth his journey took, And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide, Then reach'd the wild, where, in a flowery nook, And seated on a mossy stone, he spied An ancient man : his harp lay him beside. A stag sprang from the pasture at his call, And, kneeling, lick'd the...
Page 94 - 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 glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
Page 49 - Cheronean sage,* is thine! (Why should this praise to thee alone belong?) All else from Nature's moral path decline, Lur'd by the toys that captivate the throng; To herd in cabinets and camps, among Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride; Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song, How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide, Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.
Page 92 - AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still. And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove...
Page 18 - 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.
Page 16 - In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene, In darkness, and in storm, he found delight : Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene The southern Sun diffused his dazzling shene.
Page 20 - Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied, Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ; And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep A vision brought to his entranced sight.

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