Poems, Volume 2

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Biggs and Cottle, 1799 - 232 pages

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Page 81 - Twas evening, and the frozen streets Were cheerless to behold, And we were wrapt and coated well, And yet we were a-cold. We met an old bare-headed man, His locks were few and white; I...
Page 82 - Twas bitter keen, indeed, he said, But at home no fire had he, And therefore he had come abroad To ask for charity. We met a young bare-footed child, And she begged loud and bold; I asked her what she did abroad When the wind it blew so cold.
Page 159 - And the coffin lid that was barr'd so firm He burst with his voice of thunder. And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley...
Page 138 - twas midnight now, No human aid was near. He heard the shout of joy, for now A boat approach'd the wall, And eager to the welcome aid They crowd for safety all. " My boat is small," the boatman cried, " 'Twill bear but one away ; Come in, Lord William, and do ye In God's protection stay.
Page 175 - Who by his labour lived ; that he was one Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel A husband's love, a father's anxiousness, That from the wages of his toil he fed The distant dear ones, and would talk of them At midnight when he trod the silent deck With him he valued, talk of them, of joys...
Page 153 - And then I may rest in my grave." The old woman of Berkeley laid her down, And her eyes grew deadly dim, Short came her breath and the struggle of death Did loosen every limb. They...
Page 138 - Twas music to his ear. When lo ! the voice of loud alarm His inmost soul appals ; " What ho ! Lord William, rise in haste ! The water saps thy walls !" He rose in haste, beneath the walls He saw the flood appear ; It hemm'd him round, 'twas midnight now, No human aid was near.
Page 34 - Is forced to sup whole draughts of molten gold ; There is the murderer for ever stabb'd, Yet can he never die ; there lies the wanton On racks of burning steel, whilst in his soul He feels the torment of his raging lust. Ann. Mercy ! oh, mercy ! Friar. There stand these wretched things, Who have dream'd out whole years in lawless sheets And secret incests, cursing one another...
Page 117 - It came from mine own heart, so to my head, And thence into my fingers trickled; Then to my pen, from whence immediately On paper I did dribble it daintily.
Page 136 - Young Edmund's dying day. A fearful day was that ! the rains Fell fast with tempest roar, And the swoln tide of Severn spread Far on the level shore. In vain Lord William sought the feast, In vain he quaff'd the bowl, And strove with noisy mirth...

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