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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7 psl.
... boast of story ? where the hot - brain'd youth , Who the tiara at his pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover'd globe ; And cried , forsooth , because his arm was hamper'd , And had not room enough to do its work ? Alas ! how ...
... boast of story ? where the hot - brain'd youth , Who the tiara at his pleasure tore From kings of all the then discover'd globe ; And cried , forsooth , because his arm was hamper'd , And had not room enough to do its work ? Alas ! how ...
10 psl.
... unknown before ! The Grave discredits thee : thy charms expung'd , Thy roses faded , and thy lilies soil'd , What hast thou more to boast of ? Will thy lovers Flock round thee now , to gaze and do thee 10 THE GRAVE .
... unknown before ! The Grave discredits thee : thy charms expung'd , Thy roses faded , and thy lilies soil'd , What hast thou more to boast of ? Will thy lovers Flock round thee now , to gaze and do thee 10 THE GRAVE .
11 psl.
... boast Of those that laugh loud at the village ring ! A fit of common sickness pulls thee down With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling , That rashly dar'd thee to the unequal fight ,. What groan was that I heard ? deep groan ...
... boast Of those that laugh loud at the village ring ! A fit of common sickness pulls thee down With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling , That rashly dar'd thee to the unequal fight ,. What groan was that I heard ? deep groan ...
13 psl.
... boasted implements of art , And all thy well . cram'd magazines of health Nor hill , nor vale , as far as ship could go , Nor margin of the gravel - bottom'd brook , Escap'd thy rifling hand ! from stubborn shrubs Thou wrung'st their ...
... boasted implements of art , And all thy well . cram'd magazines of health Nor hill , nor vale , as far as ship could go , Nor margin of the gravel - bottom'd brook , Escap'd thy rifling hand ! from stubborn shrubs Thou wrung'st their ...
29 psl.
... boast of heraldy , the pomp of power , And all that beauty , all that wealth e'er gave , Await alike th ' inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave . Nor you , ye proud , impute to these the fault , If Memory o'er their ...
... boast of heraldy , the pomp of power , And all that beauty , all that wealth e'er gave , Await alike th ' inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave . Nor you , ye proud , impute to these the fault , If Memory o'er their ...
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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.