The Pleasures of Hope, with Other Poems

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John Brown, 1813 - Hope - 131 pages
 

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Page 29 - Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time Sarmatia fell unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe...
Page 25 - Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time; And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore. On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along, And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk ; There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray, And shepherds dance at Summer's opening day ; Each wandering genius of the lonely glen Shall start...
Page 72 - This frail and feverish being of an hour ; Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, To know Delight but by her parting smile, And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb...
Page 2 - Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus with delight we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way ; Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, And every form that Fancy can repair From dark oblivion glows divinely there.
Page 128 - Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly loved me, although I was poor ; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey, And he lick'd me for kindness — my poor dog Tray.
Page 19 - No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine ; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than he I Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past — With many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.
Page 70 - Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? For this hath Science...
Page 65 - Unfading HOPE ! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power ! What though each spark of earth-born rapture...
Page 124 - How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight ! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! ' Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night, ' To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar ? ' —
Page 71 - Science, hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair ? Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit...

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