The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe: With His Letters and Journals, and His Life, Volume 8

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J. Murray, 1834

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Page 25 - And in at the windows, and in at the door, And through the walls, by thousands they pour, And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor, From the right and the left, from behind and before, From within and without, from above and below, And all at once to the bishop they go.
Page 25 - They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop's bones; They gnawed the flesh from every limb, For they were sent to do judgment on him!
Page 220 - Flesh he devour'd, but not a bit would stay ; He bark'd, and snarl'd, and growl'd it all away. His ribs were seen extended like a rack, And coarse red hair hung roughly o'er his back. Lamed in one leg, and bruised in wars of yore, Now his sore body made his temper sore. Such was the friend of him who could not find Nor make him one 'mong creatures of his kind. Brave deeds of Fang his master often told, The son of Fury, famed in...
Page 49 - Sorrows like showers descend, and as the heart For them prepares, they good or ill impart ; Some on the mind, as on the ocean rain, Fall and disturb, but soon are lost again ; Some, as to fertile lands, a boon bestow, And [seeds], that else had perish'd, live and grow ; Some fall on barren soil, and thence proceed The idle blossom, and the useless weed.
Page 126 - Yet something seems like knowledge, but the change Confuses me, and all in him is strange. That bronzed old Sailor, with his wig awry — Sure he will know me ! No, he passes by. They seem like me in doubt ; but they can call Their friends around them — I am lost to all.
Page 164 - A man approach'd me, by his grandchild led^ A blind old man, and she a fair young maid, Listening in love to what her grandsire said. ' And thus with gentle voice he spoke — " Come lead me, lassie, to the shade, " Where willows grow beside the brook ; " For well I know the sound it made, " When dashing o'er the stony rill, " li munnur'd to St. Osyth's Mill.
Page 164 - I wish they were away, That in the wild-wood maze I as of old might stray. The things themselves are pleasant to behold, But not like those which we beheld of old, — That half-hid mansion, with its wide domain, Unbound and unsubdued I — but sighs are vain ; It is the rage of Taste — the rule and compass reign.
Page 162 - And then the wintry winds begin to blow, Then fall the flaky stars of gathering snow. When on the thorn, the ripening sloe, yet blue, Takes the bright varnish of the morning dew ; The aged moss grows brittle on the pale, The dry boughs splinter in the windy gale...
Page 165 - Then, lassie, lead thy grandsire on, And to the holy water bring ; A cup is fasten'd to the stone, And I would taste the healing spring, That soon its rocky cist forsakes, And green its mossy passage makes.' ' The holy spring is turn'd aside, The rock is gone, the stream is dried ; The plough has levell'd all around, And here is now no holy ground.
Page 188 - Perplex'd and pain'd, he wishes to retire From one whom critics, nay, whom crowds, admire — From her whose faith on no man's dictate leans, Who her large creed from many a teacher gleans ; Who for herself will judge, debate, decide, And be her own 'philosopher and guide.' Why call a lady Blue ? It is because She reads, converses, studies for applause ; And therefore all that she desires to know Is just as much as she can fairly show. The real knowledge we in secret hide, It is the counterfeit that...

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