The Complete Poetical Works of James Thomson

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H. Frowde, Oxford University Press, 1908 - 516 頁
 

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第 249 頁 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant, barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, — 'tis nought to me; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
第 280 頁 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face : You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living stream at eve. Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
第 245 頁 - Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round : the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart is joy. Then comes THY glory in the summer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then THY sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year...
第 420 頁 - 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!
第 25 頁 - Up springs the lark, Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations.
第 247 頁 - Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Or bids you roar or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
第 11 頁 - Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion, running from the red To where the violet fades into the sky.
第 196 頁 - As thus the snows arise, and foul and fierce All winter drives along the darkened air, In his own loose-revolving fields the swain Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend, Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain: Nor finds the river, nor the forest hid Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home Rush...
第 225 頁 - In starving solitude; while Luxury, In palaces, lay straining her low thought, To form unreal wants: why heaven-born Truth, And Moderation fair, wore the red marks Of Superstition's scourge : why licens'd Pain, That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, Imbitter'd all our bliss.
第 194 頁 - Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head ; and ere the languid sun, Faint from the west, emits his evening ray, Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill, Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man.

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