The Pleasures of Memory: With Other Poems

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Thomas Bensley, 1802 - English poetry - 187 pages
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Page 30 - Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more, His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, With that mute eloquence which passes speech.— And see, the master but returns to die! Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly ? The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave, Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.
Page 31 - O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course, .... And many a stream allures her to its source. ' Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought, Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind ; Its orb so full, its vision so confined! "Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ? Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell ? With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue Of varied scents, that charmed her as she flew ? Hail, MEMORY, hail ! thy universal...
Page 140 - ... her feeling frame! To thee she turns — forgive a virgin's fears ! To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim} Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears ! At each response the sacred rite requires, From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh. A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires; And on her lips the trembling accents die. O'er her fair face what wild emotions play ! • What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend ! Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day, And settled...
Page 11 - See, through the fractured pediment revealed, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, The martin's old, hereditary nest. Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once, in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate.
Page 76 - This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess Dowager of Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2d of April.
Page 147 - The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager : The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, And shells his nuts at liberty. In orange groves and myrtle bowers, That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound ; Or crowns of living laurel weave, For those that win the race at eve. The shepherd's horn at break of day, The ballet...
Page 155 - CHILD of the sun ! pursue thy rapturous flight. Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the flowers of paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky Expand and shut with silent...
Page 94 - And cheaply circulates, thro' distant climes, The fairest relics of the purest times. Here from the mould to conscious being start Those finer forms, the miracles of art ; Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, That slept for ages in a second mine ; And here the faithful graver dares to trace A MICHAEL'S grandeur, and a RAPHAEL'S grace ! Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, And my low roof the Vatican recalls...
Page 80 - ... the several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once.
Page 20 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,' Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! Each stamps its image as the other flies...

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