British Anthologies, Volume 8

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Edward Arber
Henry Frowde, 1899 - English poetry
 

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Page 279 - When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main ; This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain : " Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be slaves!
Page 49 - Here will I hold. If there's a power above us (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works), he must delight in virtue ; And that which he delights in must be happy.
Page 35 - And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. Then cease, bright nymph ! to mourn thy ravished hair, Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. For after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,...
Page 10 - Favours to none, to all she smiles extends ; Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide : If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
Page iv - Though oft the ear the open vowels tire; While expletives their feeble aid do join; And ten low words oft creep in one dull line: While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, With sure returns of still expected rhymes; Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze...
Page 32 - Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise, And bass and treble voices strike the skies. No common weapons in their hands are found, Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. So when bold Homer makes the gods engage, And...
Page 13 - Or roll the planets through the boundless sky : Some, less refined, beneath the moon's pale light Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, Or suck the mists in grosser air below, Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain.
Page 28 - Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew) That, while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.
Page 274 - King! Long live our noble King! God save the King! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us! God save the King!
Page 162 - Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring All on a rock reclined. Wide o'er the foaming billows She cast a wistful look; Her head was crown'd with willows That trembled o'er the brook. " ' Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days; Why didst thou, venturous lover — Why didst thou trust the seas ? Cease, cease, thou cruel Ocean, And let my lover rest; Ah!

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