The British Poets: Including Translations ...

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C. Whittingham, 1822
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Page 151 - That face, alas! no more is fair, Those lips no longer red; Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, And every charm is fled. The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. But, hark! the cock has warned me hence; A long and last adieu ! Come see, false man, how low she lies, Who died for love of you.
Page 65 - Alas ! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain: The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
Page 153 - The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chaunt it : it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Page 59 - Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz'd as I slowly withdrew; My path I could hardly discern: So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.
Page 98 - The paper was, with great industry, circulated and dispersed; and he, for his seasonable intervention, had a considerable pension bestowed upon him, which he retained to his death.
Page 70 - Come listen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts and lovers dear ; Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, Nor need you blush to shed a tear. And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, Do thou a pensive ear incline ; For thou canst weep at every woe, And pity every plaint but mine. Young Dawson was a gallant...
Page 61 - t was a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd, Who would rob a poor bird of its young : And I lov'd her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
Page 95 - Malloch to English Mallet , without any imaginable reason of preference which the eye or ear can discover. What other proofs he gave of disrespect to his native country, I know not ; but it was remarked of him, that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not commend.
Page 35 - Instruct one flower to please us more ? As vain it were, with artful dye To change the bloom thy cheeks disclose ; And oh may Laura, ere she try, With fresh vermilion paint the rose.
Page 151 - How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break?

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