The poetical works of James Thomson, James Beattie, Gilbert West and John Bampfylde

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Routledge, 1881 - 436 pages

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Page 162 - I care not,' Fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve. Let, health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great Children leave : Of Fancy, Reason, Virtue, nought can me bereave.
Page 3 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war ; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown...
Page 140 - tis nought to me : Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
Page 30 - Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe the' enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Page 138 - Works in the secret deep, shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; Feeds every creature, hurls the tempest forth, And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life.
Page 139 - As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Page 119 - Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death, And all the sad variety of pain.
Page 67 - Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays...
Page 143 - While o'er th' enfeebling lute his hand he flung, And to the trembling chords these tempting verses sung: 'Behold, ye pilgrims of this earth, behold! See all but man with unearned pleasure gay ! See her bright robes the butterfly unfold, Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May. What youthful bride can equal her array? Who can with her for easy pleasure vie? From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray, From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly, Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.
Page 177 - Into your quicken'd limbs her buoyant breath ! Who does not act is dead ; absorpt entire In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath : O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death ! "^Ah ! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, When drooping health and spirits go amiss } How tasteless then whatever can be given ? Health is the vital principle of bliss, And exercise of health.

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