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332. oldal - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair : thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these Heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
512. oldal - Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townshend* to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of -dining. Though equal to all things, for all things unfit: Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot, too cool ; for a drudge, disobedient ; And too fond of the right, to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold,...
514. oldal - But why do I talk of death? That phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own — It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep; O, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!
515. oldal - ... years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair: And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — 'Guess now who holds thee?' — 'Death,' I said. But, there,...
513. oldal - ON THE SEA It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of Heaven were unbound.
513. oldal - ROSE AYLMER AH, WHAT avails the sceptred race! Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.
316. oldal - O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
521. oldal - Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
519. oldal - O my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.