The Works of James Thomson: With His Last Corrections and Improvements. ...

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248. oldal - I care not, fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
241. oldal - Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod, Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy. A little, round, fat, oily man of God, Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry : He had a roguish twinkle in his eye, And shone all glittering with ungodly dew, If a tight damsel chaunc'd to trippen by ; Which when observ'd, he shrunk into his mew, And straight would recollect his piety anew.
214. oldal - Ne noisy tradesman your sweet slumbers start, With sounds that are a misery to hear : But all is calm, as would delight the heart Of Sybarite of old, all nature, and all art. xv Here nought but candour reigns, indulgent ease, Good-natured lounging, sauntering up and down : They who are pleased themselves must always please ; On others' ways they never squint a frown, Nor heed what haps in hamlet or in town.
226. oldal - Aerial music in the warbling wind, At distance rising oft, by small degrees, Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees It hung, and breath'd such soul-dissolving airs, As did, alas!
299. oldal - For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to Love, And when we meet a mutual heart Come in between, and bid us part ? Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away; Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the life of life is gone...
286. oldal - Brentford town, a town of mud, An herd of bristly swine is prick'd along; The filthy beasts, that never chew the cud, Still grunt, and squeak, and sing their troublous song, And oft they plunge themselves the mire among...
42. oldal - Breathing a kind oblivion o'er their woes, And love and music melt their souls away.
230. oldal - Ye Guardian Spirits, to whom Man is dear, From these foul Demons shield the Midnight Gloom ! Angels of Fancy and of Love, be near, And o'er the Blank of Sleep diffuse a Bloom ! Evoke the sacred Shades of Greece and Rome, And let them Virtue with a Look impart ! But chief, a while O lend us from the Tomb Those long-lost Friends for whom in Love we smart, And fill with pious Awe and Joy-mixt Woe the Heart.
232. oldal - In folly lost, of nothing takes he care; Pimps, lawyers, stewards, harlots, flatterers vile, And thieving tradesmen him among them share: His father's ghost from...
242. oldal - They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought, And on their brow sat every nation's cares.

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