Poetical Blossoms: Being a Selection of Short Poems ; Intended for Young People to Repeat from Memory

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E. Newbery, Corner of St. Paul's Church-Yard, 1793 - Children's poetry - 176 pages
 

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Page 12 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Page 64 - LET observation with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru ; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, And watch the busy scenes of crowded life...
Page 101 - Tis here with boundless power I reign, And every health which I begin Converts dull port to bright champagne ; Such freedom crowns it at an Inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from plate! I fly from Falsehood's specious grin ! Freedom I love, and form I hate, And choose my lodgings at an Inn. Here, waiter ! take my sordid ore, Which...
Page 76 - Shall through the gloomy vale attend, And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel whisper peace, And smooth the bed of death.
Page 71 - How blest my days, my thoughts how free, In sweet society with thee ! Then all was joyous, all was young, And years unheeded...
Page 166 - Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious, lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my pains beguile : The barren wilderness shall smile, With sudden greens and herbage crowned, And streams shall murmur all around...
Page 26 - HAIL, mildly pleasing solitude, Companion of the wise and good, But, from whose holy, piercing eye, The herd of fools and villains fly.
Page 77 - Let me ne more myfelf deceive ; Ne more regret the toys I leave ; The world I quit, the proud, the vain, Corruption's and Ambition's train ; But not the good, perdie nor fair...
Page 1 - As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air Which to those who journey near Barren, brown and rough appear: Still we tread the same coarse way; The present's still a cloudy day.
Page 90 - I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove ; She was fair — and my passion begun ; She smil'd — and I could not but love ; She is faithless — and I am undone.

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