Proceedings of the Literary & Philosophical Society of Liverpool, Edició 38

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Pàgina 50 - Toll for the brave ! The brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.
Pàgina 39 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Pàgina 49 - Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods; And time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in.
Pàgina 40 - 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...
Pàgina 42 - Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted.
Pàgina 48 - Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford...
Pàgina 42 - How oft upon yon eminence our pace Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While Admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Pàgina 36 - On Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was a man in the kitchen who desired to speak with me. I ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly figure made its appearance, and being desired to sit, spoke as follows ; " Sir, I am clerk of the parish of All-saints in Northampton ; brother of Mr C.
Pàgina 41 - Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; While far beyond and overthwart the stream That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedgerow beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear; Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.
Pàgina 51 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged...

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