The Works, in Verse and Prose, of William Shenstone: With Decorations, 第 1 巻



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188 ページ - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
186 ページ - I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone.
329 ページ - And soon a flood of tears begins to flow ; And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain...
325 ページ - Who should not honour'd eld with these revere : For never title yet so mean could prove, But there was eke a Mind which did...
185 ページ - What it is, to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each ev'ning repel ; Alas ! I am faint and forlorn : — I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
331 ページ - Ah me ! how much I fear left pride it be ! But if that pride it be, which thus infpires, Beware, ye dames, with nice difcernment fee, Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires : Ah ! better far than all the mufes...
188 ページ - I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due to a dove, That it ever attended the bold ; And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks, I should love her the more.
329 ページ - But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
187 ページ - But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
79 ページ - Thou gav'ft the fheep that browze Iberian plains : Their plaintive cries the faithlefs region fill, Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains. Ill-fated flocks ! from cliff to cliff they ftray ; Far from their dams, their native guardians, far! Where the foft fhepherd, all the livelong day, Chants his proud miftrefs to his hoarfe guittar.