The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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Page 3
... dread thing ! Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd : Nature appal'd Shakes off her wonted firmness . Ah ! how dark Thy long - extended realms , and rueful wastes : Where nought but silence reigns , and night , dark night , Dark as was Chaos ...
... dread thing ! Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd : Nature appal'd Shakes off her wonted firmness . Ah ! how dark Thy long - extended realms , and rueful wastes : Where nought but silence reigns , and night , dark night , Dark as was Chaos ...
Page 14
... dread moment , how the frantic soul Raves round the wall of her clay tenement , Runs to each avenue , and shrieks for help , But shrieks in vain ! how wishfully she looks On all she's leaving , now no longer hers ! A little longer , yet ...
... dread moment , how the frantic soul Raves round the wall of her clay tenement , Runs to each avenue , and shrieks for help , But shrieks in vain ! how wishfully she looks On all she's leaving , now no longer hers ! A little longer , yet ...
Page 18
... dread brink , Unapprehensive ; when , for aught we know , The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in . Think we , or think we not , time hurries on With a resistless unremitting stream , Yet treads more soft than c'er did midnight ...
... dread brink , Unapprehensive ; when , for aught we know , The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in . Think we , or think we not , time hurries on With a resistless unremitting stream , Yet treads more soft than c'er did midnight ...
Page 23
... dread blow is struck . But hold ! I've gone too far ; too much discover'd My father's nakedness , and nature's shame . Here let me pause ! and drop an honest tear . One burst of filial duty and condolence , O'er all those ample deserts ...
... dread blow is struck . But hold ! I've gone too far ; too much discover'd My father's nakedness , and nature's shame . Here let me pause ! and drop an honest tear . One burst of filial duty and condolence , O'er all those ample deserts ...
Page 26
... to see it done . When the dread trumpet sounds , the slumb'ring dust , Not unattentive to the call , shall wake ; And ev'ry joint possess its proper place , With a new elegance of form unknown To its first 26 THE GRAVE .
... to see it done . When the dread trumpet sounds , the slumb'ring dust , Not unattentive to the call , shall wake ; And ev'ry joint possess its proper place , With a new elegance of form unknown To its first 26 THE GRAVE .
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The Grave, a Poem. to Which Are Added an Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by ... Robert Blair No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
Popular passages
Page 29 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Page 32 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Page 31 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page 29 - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Page 50 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Page 50 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Page 50 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 31 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
Page 3 - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.