The Works of the British Poets, with Lives of the Authors, Volume 32

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J. Eastburn, 1822 - English poetry
 

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Page 112 - And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
Page 37 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war ; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown...
Page 207 - I hate that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round: To me it talks of ravaged plains, And burning towns, and ruined swains, And mangled limbs, and dying groans, And widows' tears, and orphans' moans; And all that Misery's hand bestows.
Page 46 - And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, " Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn. " But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, " Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. " Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return ? " Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed ? " Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, " And spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attiuje the grove, again adorn the mead.
Page 40 - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be for[given ! X.
Page 54 - One part, one little part, we dimly scan Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem.
Page 51 - Ah me ! neglected on the lonesome plain, As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, Save when against the winter's drenching rain And driving snow the cottage shut the door.
Page 71 - Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart, And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight; To joy each heightening charm it can impart, But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night. And often, where no real ills affright, Its visionary fiends, an endless train, Assail with equal or superior might, And through the throbbing heart and dizzy brain, And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.
Page 64 - Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
Page 48 - Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied, Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ; And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep A vision brought to his entranced sight.

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