William Somervile (1675 – 1742)
English poet.
Page 1 of 1
Whate'er of earth is form'd, to earth returns,
* * * * The soul
Of man alone, that particle divine,
Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail.
Prostrate on earth the bleeding warrior lies,
And Isr'el's beauty on the mountains dies.
How are the mighty fallen!
Hush'd be my sorrow, gently fall my tears,
Lest my sad tale should reach the alien's ears:
Bid Fame be dumb, and tremble to proclaim
In heathen Gath, or Ascalon, our shame
Lest proud Philistia, lest our haughty foe,
With impious scorn insult our solemn woe.
My hoarse-sounding horn
Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings.
Fortune is like a widow won,
And truckles to the bold alone.
Hail, blooming Youth!
May all your virtues with your years improve,
Till in consummate worth you shine the pride
Of these our days, and succeeding times
A bright example.
For the next inn he spurs amain,
In haste alights, and skuds away,
But time and tide for no man stay.
Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
Rejoic'd I see thy purple mantle spread
O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend.
The bird
That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet complainings.
He taught them how to live and how to die.
Page 1 of 1