The dove, scraps of poetry, selected by J.F.M. Dovaston for the Oswestry herald

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Page 28 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What needst thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Page 32 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Page 60 - 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 21 - What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet, From birds among the bowers.
Page 67 - Johnson was a great lover and praiser of himself, a contemner and scorner of others, given rather to lose a friend than a jest, jealous of every word and action of those about him...
Page 67 - He is a great lover and praiser of himself, a contemner and scorner of others, given rather to lose a friend than a jest, jealous of every word and action of those about him, (especially after drink, which is one of the elements in which he liveth...
Page 87 - Swifter than the moon's sphere ; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green : The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; In their gold coats spots you see ; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours : I must. go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Page 28 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart • Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

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