The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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28 psl.
... Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight , And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that from yonder ivy - mantled tower , The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such , as wandering near her secret bower , Molest ...
... Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight , And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that from yonder ivy - mantled tower , The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such , as wandering near her secret bower , Molest ...
psl.
... Save one command . That one command which stood ' Twixt him and Death , the test of his obedience , Urg'd on by wanton curiosity , He broke . There in one moment was undone The fairest of God's works . The same rash hand , That pluck'd ...
... Save one command . That one command which stood ' Twixt him and Death , the test of his obedience , Urg'd on by wanton curiosity , He broke . There in one moment was undone The fairest of God's works . The same rash hand , That pluck'd ...
psl.
... save those of war ? Alas ! [ youth , Ev'n in the smile of Peace , that smile which sheds A heav'nly sunshine o'er the soul ; there basks That serpent Luxury War its thousands slays ; Peace its ten thousands . In th ' embattled plain ...
... save those of war ? Alas ! [ youth , Ev'n in the smile of Peace , that smile which sheds A heav'nly sunshine o'er the soul ; there basks That serpent Luxury War its thousands slays ; Peace its ten thousands . In th ' embattled plain ...
psl.
... Save , O save , thy suppliant From horrors such as these ! At thy good time Let Death approach ; I reck not - let him but come In genuine form , not with thy vengeance arm'd , Too much for man to bear . O rather lend Thy kindly aid to ...
... Save , O save , thy suppliant From horrors such as these ! At thy good time Let Death approach ; I reck not - let him but come In genuine form , not with thy vengeance arm'd , Too much for man to bear . O rather lend Thy kindly aid to ...
psl.
... save , Milton himself must moulder in the grave , Who sung and prov'd with inspiration strong , The soul immortal , in immortal song . Hark ! thus death speaks ; ingenious sons of men , Why boast the chissel , pencil , or the pen ? Will ...
... save , Milton himself must moulder in the grave , Who sung and prov'd with inspiration strong , The soul immortal , in immortal song . Hark ! thus death speaks ; ingenious sons of men , Why boast the chissel , pencil , or the pen ? Will ...
Kiti leidimai - Peržiūrėti viską
The Grave, a Poem. to Which Are Added an Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, by ... Robert Blair Peržiūra negalima - 2016 |
Pagrindiniai terminai ir frazės
Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
Populiarios ištraukos
29 psl. - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
32 psl. - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
31 psl. - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
29 psl. - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
50 psl. - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
50 psl. - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
50 psl. - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
31 psl. - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
3 psl. - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.