Elegy Written in a Country Church-yardJohn Van Voorst, 1839 - 64 pages |
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Page 71
... Elend nicht ihr Haupt in tiefen Staub gedrücket , Ihr Feuer ausgeldscht und ihr Genie ersticket . XIII . Ma lor Sofía non svolse il gran volume , Che ' l tempo di sue spoglie ornò e distinse Tarpò al bell ' estro povertà le piume , E'l ...
... Elend nicht ihr Haupt in tiefen Staub gedrücket , Ihr Feuer ausgeldscht und ihr Genie ersticket . XIII . Ma lor Sofía non svolse il gran volume , Che ' l tempo di sue spoglie ornò e distinse Tarpò al bell ' estro povertà le piume , E'l ...
Page 103
... Elend ' nicht verschließen , XVII . Vietò lor sorte : pur se non concede Che virtù emerga , fa che ' l vizio langue . Quindi nessun la via chiuse a mercede , Empio , nè al trono unqua nuotò pel sangue . XVII . Le sort , qui les priva de ...
... Elend ' nicht verschließen , XVII . Vietò lor sorte : pur se non concede Che virtù emerga , fa che ' l vizio langue . Quindi nessun la via chiuse a mercede , Empio , nè al trono unqua nuotò pel sangue . XVII . Le sort , qui les priva de ...
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Page 136 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 144 - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
Page 128 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 60 - Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, ' If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Page 104 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Page 112 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Page 88 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Page 48 - 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.
Page 116 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Page 32 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.