The Poetical Works of W. Shenstone ...


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第 276 頁 - And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's '.• wound; And marj'ram sweet, in shepherd's posie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare , perfume.
第 280 頁 - But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
第 274 頁 - Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the harebell that adorns the field ; And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield Tway birchen sprays...
第 50 頁 - As— she may not be fond to resign. 1 have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed, But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
第 283 頁 - I how much I fear left pride it be ! But if that pride it be, which thus infpires, Beware, ye dames, with nice difcernment fee, Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires : Ah ! better far than all the mufes...
第 41 頁 - Dawson ! monarch of my heart ! Think not thy death shall end our loves, For thou and I will never part. ' Yet might sweet mercy find a place, And bring relief to Jemmy's woes ; O George ! without a prayer for thee My orisons should never close.
第 48 頁 - But a sweet-brier entwines it around, Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
第 53 頁 - Tis his with mock passion to glow, Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, " How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labour the strain, With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain, Repine at her triumphs, and die.
第 45 頁 - What it is to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah ! lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each evening repel ; Alas ! I am faint and forlorn — • I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.
第 278 頁 - Right well she knew each temper to descry, To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise, Some with vile...