Bell's Classical Arrangement of Fugitive Poetry: Vol. V.

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John Bell, 1789 - 200 páginas

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Página 20 - His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Página 19 - The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; — Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day...
Página 16 - Speak thou whose thoughts at humble peace repine, Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine ? Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent ? For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise th...
Página 23 - Lydia's monarch should the search descend, By Solon caution'd to regard his end, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise? From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driveller and a show.
Página 17 - Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade ; Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee...
Página 12 - LET observation, with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru ; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, And watch the busy scenes of crowded life...
Página 19 - On what foundation stands the warrior's pride? How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire...
Página 24 - Where then shall hope and fear their objects find ? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind ? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate...
Página 23 - The teeming mother anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face: Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring; And Sedley curs'd the form that pleas'da king.
Página 29 - But what, my friend, what hope remains for me, Who start at theft, and blush at perjury ? Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court...

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