The Poems of Thomas Gray: Embellished with Engravings from the Designs of Richd. WestallJ. Sharpe, 1821 - 134 pages |
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Page 38
... PROPHETESS . What call unknown , what charms presume To break the quiet of the tomb ? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite , And drags me from the realms of night ? Long on these mould'ring bones have beat The winter's snow , the ...
... PROPHETESS . What call unknown , what charms presume To break the quiet of the tomb ? Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite , And drags me from the realms of night ? Long on these mould'ring bones have beat The winter's snow , the ...
Page 39
... PROPHETESS . Mantling in the goblet see The pure bev'rage of the bee : O'er it hangs the shield of gold ; " Tis the drink of Balder bold : Balder's head to death is giv'n . Pain can reach the sons of heav'n ! Unwilling I my lips unclose ...
... PROPHETESS . Mantling in the goblet see The pure bev'rage of the bee : O'er it hangs the shield of gold ; " Tis the drink of Balder bold : Balder's head to death is giv'n . Pain can reach the sons of heav'n ! Unwilling I my lips unclose ...
Page 40
... PROPHETESS . In Hoder's hand the hero's doom ; His brother sends him to the tomb . Now my weary lips I close : Leave me , leave me to repose . ODIN . Prophetess , my spell obey , Once again arise , and say , Who th ' avenger of his ...
... PROPHETESS . In Hoder's hand the hero's doom ; His brother sends him to the tomb . Now my weary lips I close : Leave me , leave me to repose . ODIN . Prophetess , my spell obey , Once again arise , and say , Who th ' avenger of his ...
Page 41
... Prophetess , awake , and say , What virgins these , in speechless woe , That bend to earth their solemn brow , That their flaxen tresses tear , And snowy veils that float in air ? Tell me whence their sorrows rose ; Then I leave thee to ...
... Prophetess , awake , and say , What virgins these , in speechless woe , That bend to earth their solemn brow , That their flaxen tresses tear , And snowy veils that float in air ? Tell me whence their sorrows rose ; Then I leave thee to ...
Page 42
... prophetess of good ; But mother of the giant brood ! PROPHETESS . Hie thee hence , and boast at home , That never shall inquirer come To break my iron - sleep again ; Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain ; Never , till substantial night ...
... prophetess of good ; But mother of the giant brood ! PROPHETESS . Hie thee hence , and boast at home , That never shall inquirer come To break my iron - sleep again ; Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain ; Never , till substantial night ...
Expressions et termes fréquents
ACERONIA Æolian AGRIPPINA Anicetus atque awake bard beneath blooming band breast breath brow dauntless death divine DRAWN BY RICHARD dread earl Edward Eirin Elegy Eton College eyes fame fate fears glitt'ring glory golden golden reign grace Gray Gray's hæc hand Hark hear heart heav'n Henry the Sixth honour JOHN SHARPE king lady Long Story Lord lyre Margaret of Anjou Mason MDCCLXXI mind morn mother muse ne'er o'er ODIN Otho pain PICCADILLY Pindar pleasure poem poet poetry PROPHETESS PUBLISHED BY JOHN quæ Queen reign repose RICHARD WESTALL round says shade Sisters smiling soft solemn song soul spirit stanza Stoke style sublime sweet Taliessin taste tear thee THOMAS GRAY Thormodus Torfæus thou trembling vale verse victorious bands voice Walpole warblings warm wat'ry Weave weep Welsh wing written YORK PUBLIC YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY youth
Fréquemment cités
Page 6 - Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green The paths of pleasure trace; Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?
Page 5 - expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way.
Page 73 - See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost And breathe, and walk again: The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening Paradise.
Page 56 - THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Page 23 - Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare, Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Close by the regal chair Fell thirst and famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Page 51 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 12 - Awake, /Eolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take ; The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres...
Page 52 - Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the' inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 19 - Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : ' To arms ! ' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.
Page 55 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.