The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volume 14

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Página 212 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure — Rich the treasure Sweet the pleasure. Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain, Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
Página 199 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high. Arise ye more than dead. Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, In order to their stations leap, And music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man.
Página 213 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour, but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee!
Página 11 - Disguised in mortal mould and infancy? That the great Maker of the world could die? And after that trust my imperfect sense, Which calls in question His Omnipotence?
Página 135 - I been depos'd, if you had reign'd! The father had descended for the son, For only you are lineal to the throne.
Página 27 - She made a mannerly excuse to stay, Proffering the Hind to wait her half the way: That, since the sky was clear, an hour of talk Might help her to beguile the tedious walk. With much good-will the motion was embrac'd...
Página 212 - Flushed with a purple grace He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus...
Página 200 - Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot...
Página 216 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down.
Página 111 - On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly. So Romulus, 'tis sung, by Tiber's Brook, Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. Th 'admiring throng loud acclamations make And omens of his future empire take.

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