The works of professor Wilson, ed. by prof. Ferrier, Volume 3

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Page 43 - Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years...
Page 226 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
Page 246 - What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love ! where love like this is found : O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare — ' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare — One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that...
Page 246 - The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave, IX 0 happy love! where love like this is found; O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare, "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale Beneath...
Page 356 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 52 - Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied, for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant* sung; Silence was pleased: now...
Page 264 - Doomed for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purged away.
Page 296 - A stranger yet to pain ? I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 51 - Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore, Give me TO SEE, — and Ajax asks no more.
Page 104 - ... that I scarce see what passes under my nose, and hear nothing that is said about me. To follow poetry as one ought, one must forget father and mother, and cleave to it alone.

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