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
... round with mouldy damps , and ropy slime , Lets fall a supernumerary horror , And only serves to make the night more irksome . Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew , A Cheerless , unsocial plant ! that loves to dwell ' THE GRAVE ...
... round with mouldy damps , and ropy slime , Lets fall a supernumerary horror , And only serves to make the night more irksome . Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew , A Cheerless , unsocial plant ! that loves to dwell ' THE GRAVE ...
Page 5
... falling down her now untasted cheek . Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man She drops ; whilst busy meddling memory , In barbarous succession , musters up The past endearments of their softer hours , Tenacious of its theme . Still ...
... falling down her now untasted cheek . Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man She drops ; whilst busy meddling memory , In barbarous succession , musters up The past endearments of their softer hours , Tenacious of its theme . Still ...
Page 12
... persuasion hung upon thy lip ,. And sly insinuation's softer arts In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue ; Alas ! how chop - fall'n now ! thick mists and silence . Rest , like a weary cloud , upon thy breast 12 THE GRAVE .
... persuasion hung upon thy lip ,. And sly insinuation's softer arts In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue ; Alas ! how chop - fall'n now ! thick mists and silence . Rest , like a weary cloud , upon thy breast 12 THE GRAVE .
Page 16
... fall by her own act ? Forbid it , heaven ! let not upon disgust The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er With blood of its own lord . Dreadful attempt ! Juft reeking from self - slaughter , in a rage To rush into the presence of our ...
... fall by her own act ? Forbid it , heaven ! let not upon disgust The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er With blood of its own lord . Dreadful attempt ! Juft reeking from self - slaughter , in a rage To rush into the presence of our ...
Page 17
... falls the village swain , And there his pamper'd lord ! The cup goes round , And who so artful as to put it by ? ' Tis long since death had the majority ; Yet , strange ! the living lay it not to heart . See yonder maker of the dead ...
... falls the village swain , And there his pamper'd lord ! The cup goes round , And who so artful as to put it by ? ' Tis long since death had the majority ; Yet , strange ! the living lay it not to heart . See yonder maker of the dead ...
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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.