Polyanthos, Volume 3

J.T. Buckingham, 1806

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Page 119 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Page 119 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.
Page 200 - The changing spirits' rise and fall; We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. He suffered — but his pangs are o'er; Enjoyed— but his delights are fled ; Had friends — his friends are now no more ; And foes — his foes are dead. He loved — but whom he loved the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb : O she was fair!
Page 250 - The excursions of his genius are immense. His imperial fancy has laid all nature under tribute, and has collected riches from every scene of the creation and every walk of art.
Page 201 - The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew. The...
Page 200 - ONCE, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man : and who was he ? Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, That man resembled thee, Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown : His name has perish'd from the earth.
Page 157 - defied criticism," so did George, in the original spirit of his own perfect buffoonery, defy caricature. He never deigned to join in the laugh he had raised, nor seemed to have a feeling of the ridicule he had provoked. At the same time that he was preeminently, and...
Page 268 - Twas kind, but beautifully shy : Not with a warmer, purer ray, The sun, enamour'd, woos young May ; Nor May, with softer maiden grace, Turns from the sun her blushing face. But, swifter than the frighted dove, Fled the gay morning of my love ; Ah ! that so bright a morn, so soon Should vanish in so dark a noon.
Page 68 - She should have died hereafter ; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.
Page 45 - SIR, — 1 have two objections to this duel matter. The one is, lest I should hurt you ; and the other is, lest you should hurt me. I do not see any good it would do me to put a bullet through any part of your body. I could make no use of you when dead for any culinary purpose, as I would a rabbit or'a turkey. I am no cannibal to feed on the flesh of men. Why then shoot down a human creature, of which I could make no use ? A buffalo would be better meat.

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