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THOMAS TICKELL
English poet and translator
(1686 - 1740)

A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers.
      - [Flowers]

Ah! curst ambition! to thy lures we owe
  All the great ills that mortals bear below.
      - [Ambition]

Now hear the trumpets' clangor from afar, and all the dreadful harmony of war.
      - [War]

Sweet as dew-drops on the flowery lawns when the sky opens, and the morning lawns.
      - [Morning]

The silver empress of the night.
      - [Moon]

The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.
      - [Sweetness]

Vain man would trace the mystic maze
  With foolish wisdom, arguing, charge his God,
    His balance hold, and guide his angry rod,
      New-mould the spheres, and mend the skies' design,
        And sound th' immense with his short scanty line.
          Do thou, my soul, the destined period wait,
            When God shall solve the dark decrees of fate,
              His now unequal dispensation clear,
                And make all wise and beautiful appear.
      - [Wisdom]

I hear a voice you cannot hear,
  Which says, I must not stay;
    I see a hand you cannot see,
      Which beckons me away.
      - Colin and Lucy [Death : Future]

Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest,
  Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
    Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
      A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
      - Ode on the Death of Addison,
        placed on Addison's tomb in Henry the VII chapel, Westminster
        [Epitaphs]

Just men, by whom impartial laws were given,
  And saints, who taught and led the way to heaven!
      - On the Death of Mr. Addison (l. 41)
        [Character]

Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
  A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.
      - On the Death of Mr. Addison (l. 45)
        [Character]

These taught us how to live; and (oh, too high
  The price for knowledge!) taught us how to die.
      - On the Death of Mr. Addison (l. 81)
        [Death]

Fight Virtue's cause, stand up in Wit's defence,
  Win us from vice and laugh us into sense.
      - On the Prospect of Peace (st. 38)
        [Laughter]

Thee will I sing in comely wainscot bound
  And golden verge enclosing thee around;
    The faithful horn before, from age to age
      Preserving thy invulnerable page.
        Behind thy patron saint in armor shines
          With sword and lance to guard the sacred lines;
            Th' instructive handle's at the bottom fixed
              Lest wrangling critics should pervert the text.
      - The Hornbook [Books]


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Last Revised: 2018 December 10




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