The Poetical Works of William Cowper

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Routledge, Warne, and Routledge, 1866 - 630 pages
 

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Page 358 - Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock.
Page 406 - I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was.
Page 233 - My panting side was charged, when I withdrew, To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. There was I found by One who had himself Been hurt by the archers.
Page 343 - Well done !" As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin — who but he ; His fame soon spread around — He carries weight, he rides a race, 'Tis for a thousand pound.
Page 195 - Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that with a livelier green Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Page 163 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Page 345 - And gallop'd off with all his might, As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; He lost them sooner than at first, For why — they were too big. Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She...
Page 215 - With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
Page 485 - That pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford; And, such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delayed not to bestow.
Page 344 - But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there ; For why? his owner had a house Full ten miles off at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still. The...

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