The Minstrel, Or, The Progress of Genius, with Some Other Poems

Framsida
J. Ballantyne for W. Creech, 1803 - 147 sidor
 

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Sida 9 - And be it so. Let those deplore their doom. Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ? Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed. Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.
Sida 117 - AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove : 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
Sida 15 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? — The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees ; the linnet's lay of love ; And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Sida 48 - Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves ! Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent, Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves, His eye still smiling, and his heart content. Then, hand in hand, health, sport, and labour went. Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave.
Sida 53 - And Reason now through number, time, and space, Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye, And learns, from facts compared, the laws to trace, Whose long progression leads to Deity.
Sida 21 - One part, one little part, we dimly scan Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem.
Sida 60 - Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn. The soft amusement of the vacant mind ! He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn, He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined, Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !* He sleeps in dust.
Sida 35 - Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, " And woo the weary to profound repose ! " Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, " And whisper comfort to the man of woes ? " Here, Innocence may wander, safe from foes, " And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.

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