The Poetical Works of George Crabbe

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Gall & Inglis, 1899 - 496 pages
 

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Page 177 - There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond...
Page 238 - ... and, in the sultry day, Through the tall bounding Mud-banks made their way, Which on each side rose swelling, and below The dark warm Flood ran silently and slow ; There anchoring, Peter chose from Man to hide, There hang his Head, and view the lazy Tide In its hot slimy Channel slowly glide; Where the small Eels that left the deeper way For the warm Shore, within the Shallows play ; Where gaping Muscles, left upon the Mud, Slope...
Page 61 - Lo ! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black, And torn green gown loose hanging at her back, One who an infant in her arms sustains, And seems in patience striving with her pains...
Page 23 - And, skill'd at whist, devotes the night to play: Then, while such honours bloom around his head, Shall he sit sadly by the sick man's bed, To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal To combat fears that e'en the pious feel? Now once again the gloomy scene explore, Less gloomy now; the bitter hour is o'er, The man of many sorrows sighs no more...
Page 248 - Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire For more than true and honest hearts require, They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed Through the green lane, then linger in the mead Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom, And pluck the blossom where the wild bees hum ; Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass, And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass, Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread, And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed...
Page 139 - And yet they'll buy a patent, and succeed ; Will dare to promise dying sufferers aid, — For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid ? With cruel avarice still they recommend More draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end : 'I feel it not ;' — 'Then take it every hour.' — 'It makes me worse ;' — 'Why, then it shows its power.' 'I fear to die ;' — 'Let not your spirits sink, 'You're always safe, while you believe and drink.
Page 208 - That giant-building, that high-bounding wall, Those bare-worn walks, that lofty thund'ring hall ! That large loud clock, which tolls each dreaded hour, Those gates and locks, and all those signs of power : It is a prison, with a milder name, Which few inhabit without dread or shame.
Page 22 - Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, Which real pain, and that alone, can cure; How would ye bear in real pain to lie, Despised, neglected, left alone to die ? How would ye bear to draw your latest breath Where all that's wretched paves the way for death...
Page 76 - twas not their vulgar pride, Who, in their base contempt, the great deride ; Nor pride in learning...
Page 22 - ... happiest they! The moping idiot and the madman gay. Here too the sick their final doom receive, Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve, Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow...

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