The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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... thine . See yonder hallow'd fane ! the pious work Of names once fam'd , now dubious or forgot ; And , buried ' midst the wreck of things that were , There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead . • The wind is up ; hark ! how it howls ...
... thine . See yonder hallow'd fane ! the pious work Of names once fam'd , now dubious or forgot ; And , buried ' midst the wreck of things that were , There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead . • The wind is up ; hark ! how it howls ...
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... thine eyes Felt from afar ? pliant and pow'rless now ; Like new - born infant bound up in his swathes , Or victim tumbled flat upon his back , That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife ; Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues ...
... thine eyes Felt from afar ? pliant and pow'rless now ; Like new - born infant bound up in his swathes , Or victim tumbled flat upon his back , That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife ; Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues ...
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... thine ! see how the fiend Profusely scatters the contagion round ! Whilst deep mouth'd slaughter bellowing at her heels , Wades deep in blood new spilt ; yet for to - morrow Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring , And inly pines ...
... thine ! see how the fiend Profusely scatters the contagion round ! Whilst deep mouth'd slaughter bellowing at her heels , Wades deep in blood new spilt ; yet for to - morrow Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring , And inly pines ...
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... thine aisle along , In contemplation wrapt , now let me stray ; And stealing from the idly - busy throng , Devoutly meditate the moral lay . What pleasing sadness fills my thoughtful breast Whene'er my steps these gloomy mansions trace ...
... thine aisle along , In contemplation wrapt , now let me stray ; And stealing from the idly - busy throng , Devoutly meditate the moral lay . What pleasing sadness fills my thoughtful breast Whene'er my steps these gloomy mansions trace ...
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... thine own hand hath made So film and sure , if this my steps betray ; If my own mother Earth , from whence I sprung Rise up with rage unnatural to devour Her wretched offspring , whither shall I fly ? Where look for succour ? Where ...
... thine own hand hath made So film and sure , if this my steps betray ; If my own mother Earth , from whence I sprung Rise up with rage unnatural to devour Her wretched offspring , whither shall I fly ? Where look for succour ? Where ...
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多く使われている語句
Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
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29 ページ - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
32 ページ - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' 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.
31 ページ - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
29 ページ - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
50 ページ - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
50 ページ - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
50 ページ - 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.
31 ページ - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
3 ページ - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.