Poems, Volume 2

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C. Whittingham; sold by R. Jennings ... T. Tegg ... A.K. Newman and Company ... London; J. Sutherland, Edinburgh; and R. Griffin, and Company Glasgow., 1821 - English poetry

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Page 50 - Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too ; affectionate in look, And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of grace to guilty men.
Page 178 - The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs, Else they are all — the meanest things that are, As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Page 37 - Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained, My soul is sick with every day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, It does not feel for man.
Page 162 - Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Page 150 - Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar, and to anticipate the skies. Yet few remember them. They lived unknown, Till Persecution dragged them into fame, And chased them up to heaven.
Page 161 - And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold, Would urge a wiser suit than asking more The night was winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Page 44 - Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
Page 161 - Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, Charms more than silence.
Page 100 - He sucks intelligence in every clime, And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return — a rich repast for me.
Page 151 - He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes confederate for his harm Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease as Samson his green withes.

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