The Harp of Erin: Containing the Poetical Works, Volumen1

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Richard Phillips, 1807
 

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Página 5 - He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew: Destroy his fib or sophistry, in vain, The creature's at his dirty work again, Throned in the centre of his thin designs, Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines!
Página 106 - The times have been That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end ; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools.
Página 20 - High o'er the headlong torrent's foamy fall, Whose waters howl along the rugged steep, On the loose-jutting rock, or mould'ring wall, See where gaunt Danger lays him down to sleep ! The piping winds his mournful vigil keep; The lightnings blue his stony pillow warm; Anon, incumbent o'er the dreary deep, The fiend enormous strides the lab'ring storm, And "mid the thund'rous strife expands his giant form.
Página 205 - Heav'n lend thy soul its surest port, And introduce thee to the court ; Revive again thy earthly sport, And melt thy lead ! Alas ! we mourn ; for, by the mort ! John Baynham's dead. , " No curate now can work thy throat, And alter clean thy jocund note; Charon has plump'd thee in his boat, And run a-head : My curse on death, the meddling sot ! Gay Johnny's dead. ^ With gills of noblest usquebaugh...
Página 225 - For noble punch shall sweetly fill The thought sublime. By many wrong'd, gay bloom of song, Thou yet art innocent of wrong, Virtue and truth to thee belong, Virtue and truth; Though Pleasure led thy step along, And trapp'd thy youth.
Página 27 - Rien n'est beau que le vrai : le vrai seul est aimable ; II doit régner partout, et même dans la fable : De toute fiction l'adroite fausseté Ne tend qu'à faire aux yeux briller la vérité.
Página 207 - They press'd my sitting : marv'lous dull, I gap'd at Banquo like a fool, And cried ' Good sirs, the table's full, And there's a spirit.' * Come, reach,' quoth sprite, ' an easy stool :' And lent a wherret. " ' You rogue,' said he, ' how dare you write Such stuff on me, as dead outright ; I think, by this good candle-light, You've earn'da drubbing.' ' Pho! peace,' said I, * I'll blot it quite; Aye, by St.
Página 223 - THRICE hail, thou prince of jovial fellows, Tuning so blithe thy lyric bellows, Of no one's brighter genius jealous ; Whose little span Is spent 'twixt poetry and alehouse, 'Twixt quill and cann '.. a Reckless howe'er the world may fadge...
Página 49 - Yet, oh! be love transformed to deadly hate, As freezes memory at Marlow's fate: Disastrous bard! by too much passion warm'd, His fervid breast a menial beauty charm'd; Nor, vers'd in arts deceitful woman knows, Saw he the prospect of his future woes. Vain the soft plaint, that sordid breast to fire With warmth refin'd or elegant desire; Vain his melodious magic, to impart Affections foreign to th' unfeeling heart; In guardless ecstacy's delicious glow, He sinks beneath a vassal murd'rer's blow.
Página 158 - Lo from thy beamy quiver fall Arrowy points, that pierce the ground, And light the glow-worms twinkling lamp: On the pale lake's margin damp The fairy phantoms dance around, Till scar'd by frolic echo's cavern'd call They quit their circle, shudd'ring flit away, And meltingly in thy wan veil of humid light decay.

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