Poems, Volume 1

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Stereotyped and Printed by A. Wilson for J. Johnson and Company, 1815 - Poets, English

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Page 320 - And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well. The youth did ride and soon did meet John coming back amain ; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein ; But not performing what he meant And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.
Page 314 - John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein.
Page 312 - And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair. " My sister, and my sister's child, Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride On horseback after we.
Page 313 - Where they did all get in ; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin.
Page 312 - I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend, the Calender, Will lend his horse to go.
Page 223 - Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Page 317 - So am I!" But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined 'to tarry there, For why? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew Shot by an archer strong, So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song.
Page 293 - 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 him a screen from the heat, And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
Page 224 - How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
Page 316 - Were shattered at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he...

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