The Goblins of Neapolis

Milliken, 1836 - 146 páginas

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Página 114 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
Página 114 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O! I have ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Página 42 - Howe'er you come to know it, answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders...
Página 110 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Página 53 - Britain's isle, no matter where, An ancient pile of building stands ; The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employ'd the power of fairy hands To raise the ceiling's fretted height, Each pannel in achievements clothing, Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages, that lead to nothing.
Página 66 - ... my inspection is done. Away, on thy gossamer wing ! Fear me not. Butterfly ; I will not seize Thee, poor little frolicsome thing : Thou art liberty's heir — thou art child of the breeze. Go — roam to what blossom, what bower you please. Away, on thy gossamer wing ! Yes, fly to the rose — it is breathing perfume ; Away, little wandering thing ! Every sun-beam is stealing a tint from its bloom ; Go — wait not till day-light has faded to gloom. For Time is, like thee, on the wing. Not gone...
Página 108 - The innocent sleep . . . balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course . . . chief nourisher in life's feast . . .
Página 42 - Sing, Heavenly Muse, that on the secret top • Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the heaven and earth Rose out of chaos...
Página 66 - Go — wait not till day-light has faded to gloom. For Time is, like thee, on the wing. Not gone yet, fair Butterfly, why then so still ? Art weary ? thou frail little thing ! Ah hasten — nor wait, silly insect, until Thou art marked by some bird for his ravenous bill ! Away, on thy gossamer wing ! 1 have noted each freckle and shade of thy coat, Ev'ry spot of thy beautiful wing ; And I hear from yon ivy a twittering note ; Go — hide in the cup of some blossom remote ; Adieu, little fluttering...
Página 125 - The tail or end of any thing, as, the long curl of a wig ; the last words of a speech, which the player who is to answer catches, and regards as an intimation to begin; a hint ; an intimation.

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