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English citations of enripen

develop from incipiency to maturity[edit]

  • 1772, Nathaniel Evans, Poems on Several Occasions, page 106:
    How did we hope — alas! the hope how vain!
    To hear thy future more enripen’d ſtrain;
    When fancy’s fire with judgement had combin’d
    To guide each effort of th’ enraptur’d mind.
    Yet are thoſe youthful glowing lays of thine
    The emanations of a ſoul divine;
    Who heard thee ſing but felt ſweet muſic’s dart
    In thrilling tranſports pierce his captiv’d heart?
    Whether ſoft melting airs attun’d thy ſong,
    Or pleas’d to pour the thund’ring verſe along,
    Still nobly great, true offspring of the Nine,
    Alas! how blaſted in thy glorious prime!
    So when firſt opes the eye-lids of the morn,
    A radiant purple does the heav’ns adorn,
    Freſh ſmiling glory ſtreaks the ſkies around,
    And gaily ſilvers each enamel’d mound,
    Till ſome black ſtorm o’erclouds the æther fair,
    And all its beauties vaniſh into air.
  • 1785, The humming bird: a collection of the most celebrated English and Scots songs, A collection of songs for the ladies, song 330:
      On his face the vernal roſe,
    Blended with the lilly glows;
    His locks are as the raven black,
    In ringlets woven down his back.
      His eyes with milder beauties beam,
    Than billing doves beſide the ſtream;
    His youthful cheeks are beds of flow’rs
    Enripen’d by refreſhing ſhow’rs.
      His lips are of the roſe’s hue,
    Still dropping with a fragrant dew;
    Tall as the cedar he appears,
    And as erect his form he bears.
  • 1810, Samuel Johnson, The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper: Including the Series Edited with Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, the poëms of E. Moore, Fable 2, The Panther, the Horse, and other Beasts, page 210:
        Trust me, my dear, with greater ease
    Your taste for flatt’ry I could please,
    And similics in each dull line,
    Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine.
    What if I say your lips disclose
    The freshness of the op’ning rose?
    Or that your cheeks are beds of flow’rs,
    Enripen’d by refreshing show’rs?
    Yet certain as these flow’rs fade,
    Time every beauty will invade.
    The butterfly, of various hue,
    More than the flow’r resembles you;
    Fair, fluttering, fickle, busy thing,
    To pleasure ever on the wing,
    Gayly coquetting for an hour,
    To die, and ne’er be thought of more.