Moore. Cawthorne. Collins. Dyer. Shenstone. Mallet. Akenside. Gray. Littleton. Gay

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Samuel Johnson
A. Miller, 1800
 

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第 281 頁 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
第 278 頁 - Elegy written in a Country Churchyard The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
第 50 頁 - Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal...
第 278 頁 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
第 65 頁 - Gaudy as the opening dawn, Lies a long and level lawn, On which a dark hill, steep and high, Holds and charms the wandering eye!
第 276 頁 - Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade, Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease...
第 62 頁 - twas wild. But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch...
第 173 頁 - Low lays the house which that of cards doth build, Shall Dennis be ! if rigid fate incline, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; And many a poet quit th...
第 102 頁 - If the Author has hazarded, throughout, the use of English or modern allusions, he hopes it will not be imputed to an entire ignorance, or to the least disesteem of the ancient learning. He has kept the ancient plan and method in his eye, though he builds his edifice with the materials of his own nation.
第 44 頁 - Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, whose ev'ry vale Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand: To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; Thou need'st but take the pencil to thy hand, And paint what all believe who own thy genial land.

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