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Sweet saints, it is no sin or blame To love a man of virtuous name. Did never Love so sweetly breathe In any mortal breast before: Did never Muse inspire beneath A Poet's brain with finer store. He wrote of Love with high conceit, And beauty rear'd above her height.
Bridget sent no scaly spoil; An infant, wellnigh dead, They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, To beg from you her bread." That orphan maid the lady kiss'd "My husband's looks you bear; St. Bridget and her morn be bless'd! You are his widow's heir." They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, In silk and sandals rare; And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, Are glistening in her hair.
"After God had carried us safe to New England, and we had builded our houses, provided necessaries for our livelihood, rear'd convenient places for God's worship, and settled the Civil Government, one of the next things we longed for and looked after was to advance learning and perpetuate it to Posterity, dreading to leave an illiterate ministry to the Churches when our present ministers shall be in the Dust."
"`The wind it whistled, the porpoise roll'd, The dolphins rear'd their backs of gold; And never was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the ocean-child. "I believe you, my hearties, that was a gale! I don't believe the sea ever ran so high before, or has ever run so high since.
When learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes, First rear'd the stage; immortal Shakespear rose, Each change of many-coloured life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new, Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting time toiled after him, in vain.
After the first difficulties were surmounted, the language of nature and harmony soon became easy and familiar, and each day I sailed upon the ocean with a brisker gale and a more steady course. Ilias, A 481. Fair wind, and blowing fresh, Apollo sent them; quick they rear'd the mast, Then spread th'unsullied canvas to the gale, And the wind fill'd it.
It is such a compliment as a poet might pay to a conqueror and head of the state without the possibility of self-degradation: Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud Hast rear'd God's trophies and his work pursued While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath.
Two generations complete of the blood of articulate mankind, Nurtur'd and rear'd in his view, unto death in their turn had been gather'd; Now he was king for a third in the bountiful region of Pylos. He, with beneficent thoughts, in the midst of them rose and address'd them: "Woe to me! great is the grief that has come on the land of Achaia!
Thy outraged country shall bestow A lasting monument of fame, The highest meed of praise below A British patriot's deathless name! Dark, heavy clouds were gathering in the west, Wrapping the forest in funereal gloom; Onward they roll'd, and rear'd each livid crest, Like Death's murk shadows frowning o'er earth's tomb. From out the inky womb of that deep night Burst livid flashes of electric flame.
An ode written for the birthday of the President in 1796 contains an allusion to his influence in suppressing the insurrection: "When o'er the western mountain's brow, Sedition rear'd her impious head, And Tumult wild his legions led, Serenely great, the Patriot rose. Yet in his breast conflicting throes Of mercy check'd the impending blows.
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