Churchill, 1764, to Johnson, 1784

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Thomas Campbell
J. Murray, 1819
 

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Seite 282 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Seite 283 - At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Seite 288 - And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Seite 289 - That call'd them from their native walks away ; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly...
Seite 284 - The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Seite 189 - Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main : Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloudtopt head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Seite 438 - Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee; Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. See nations slowly wise, and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
Seite 286 - Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'T is yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Seite 47 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Seite 285 - Thither no more the peasant shall repair, To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale...

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