George Crabbe ( 10 of 33 )
In her experience all her friends relied,
Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.
In her experience all her friends relied,
Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.
To show the world what long experience gains,
Requires not courage, though it calls for pains;
But read more
To show the world what long experience gains,
Requires not courage, though it calls for pains;
But at life's outset to inform mankind
Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.
Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the read more
Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing heart
Will we discern the wounds within.
The coward never on himself relies,
But to an equal for assistance flies.
The coward never on himself relies,
But to an equal for assistance flies.
His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains,
But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.
His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains,
But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead:
read more
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead:
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own.
Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he read more
Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
read more
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?
In this fool's paradise, he drank delight.
In this fool's paradise, he drank delight.
Oh! rather give me commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain;
Who from the read more
Oh! rather give me commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain;
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
