The minor poems of William Cowper

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John Sharpe, 1818 - English poetry - 108 pages
 

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Page 15 - Tis now become a history little known, That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Page 14 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such?
Page 34 - ... of appetite; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something shining in the dark, And knew the glow-worm by his spark; So, stooping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: "Did you admire my lamp...
Page 53 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary...
Page 94 - What news? what news? your tidings tell ; Tell me you must and shall — Say why bare-headed you are come, Or why you come at all ? Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke; And thus unto the calender In merry guise he spoke : I came because your horse would come ; And, if I well forebode, My hat and wig will soon be here, They are upon the road.
Page 15 - When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 75 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
Page 46 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.
Page 3 - Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them ; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld : And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repeU'd : And ever as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried —
Page 115 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Page 40 - Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew ; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

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