The Ruminator: containing a series of moral, critical, and sentimental essays, Volume 2

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Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1813
 

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Page 163 - I never framed a wish, or formed a plan, That flattered me with hopes of earthly bliss, But there I laid the scene. There early strayed My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free. My very dreams were rural, rural too...
Page 47 - O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o...
Page 309 - exclaims the Lance; 'Bear me to the heart of France,' Is the longing of the Shield; Tell thy name, thou trembling field; Field of death, where'er thou be, Groan thou with our victory ! Happy day, and mighty hour...
Page 43 - FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro...
Page 55 - By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath : Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, Or whom she lifted up into the throne Of high renown ; but, as a living death, So, dead alive, of life he drew the breath.
Page 270 - It gave me inexpressible pleasure to find myself in the midst of so noble an amphitheatre, almost encircled by the vast regions of Asia, which has ever been esteemed the nurse of sciences, the inventress of delightful and useful arts...
Page 9 - For oft the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd Beneath the sleeping embers, mounted fast, And all its native light anew reveal'd: Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field, And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind, Ten thousand glorious systems would he build, Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind; But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind.
Page 58 - No towns, ne realms, cities, ne strongest tower, But all, perforce, must yield unto his power. His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, And in his hand, a dreadful sight to see...
Page 56 - His scalp all piled,1 and he with eld forelore, His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath ; For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.
Page 57 - Crookbacked he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, With old lame bones that rattled by his side, His scalp all pilled and he with eld forlore; His withered fist still knocking at Death's door, Fumbling and drivelling as he draws his breath; For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.

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