Coopers-hill: A Poem,

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H. Hills, in Black-fryars, neat the Water-side., 1709 - 16 pages

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Page 11 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Page 14 - All instruments, all arts of ruin met; He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed, His winged heels, and then his armed head; With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet; But fear prevails and bids him trust his feet.
Page 10 - Thames ! the most loved of all the Ocean's sons, By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity ; Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold * : His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore, Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, And hatches plenty for th...
Page 10 - What barbarous invader sack'd the land ? But when he hears no Goth, no Turk, did bring This desolation, but a Christian king ; When nothing but the name of zeal appears 'Twixt our best actions and the worst of theirs ; What does he think our sacrilege would spare, When such the...
Page 15 - tis in vain to fear. And now, too late, he wishes for the fight That strength he wasted in ignoble flight ; But when he...
Page 10 - And for that lethargy was there no cure But to be cast into a calenture...
Page 14 - So much his love was dearer than his life. Now every leaf, and every moving breath Presents a foe, and every foe a death.
Page 14 - To his friends' pity, and pursuers' scorn, With shame remembers, while himself was one Of the same herd, himself the same had done. Thence to the coverts and the conscious groves, The scene of his past triumphs and his loves ; Sadly surveying where he rang'd alone Prince of the soil, and all the herd his own ; And, like a bold...
Page 11 - When he to boast or to disperse his stores, Full of the tributes of his grateful shores, Visits the world, and in his flying towers, Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours, Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants ; So that to us no thing, no place is strange, While his fair bosom is the world's exchange.
Page 12 - A shady mantle clothes; his curled brows Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows, While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat; The common fate of all that's high or great. Low...

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