Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare;
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:
Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long years of havoc urge their destined course,
And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,
And spare the meek usurper's holy head.
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof.
The thread is spun)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.
)
455. The Progress of Poesy A PINDARIC ODE
AWAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings,
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
Похожие новости:
What child is the
Look unto mine handes
So forth those joyous
The Lady was wowd
A hundred shapes of
SIR HENRY WOTTON 1568
Your covetous hand Happy
What time the pea
But thou because thou
When she is by
O he s gane
O Mary canst thou
IX So careful of
When down their bows
But you are lovely
The stoned steed stampis
Love in thine eyes
A Hymn in Praise
And in the warm
Therefore to us be
Her Passing THE beauty
She comb d its
And cheerfully at sea
O stay at hame
We ll hear nae
PART III There passed
Make hast therefore sweet
So I wand ring
But each upbore a
O fountains when in
If to these precepts
261 To Daisies not
The squirrel gloats on
Back and side go
Among the Muses Nine
Then shalt thou weep
She I shall as
The Pict no shelter
Give me a look
EDGAR ALLAN POE 1809
Can storied urn or
If sweetest sounds can
O sair sair did
But now ye Shepheard
The misty reek the
My Mary Partakers of
But the might of
But if the while
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 1564 1616
|
