Monastic brotherhood, upon rock

Aerial.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Excursion. Book iii.

Shall I, like an hermit, dwell

On a rock or in a cell?

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618): Poem.

Better to sink beneath the shock

Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Giaour. Line 969.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in thee.

A M Toplady (1740-1778): Salvation through Christ.

Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;

A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,

A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,

A forked mountain, or blue promontory

With trees upon 't.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Antony and Cleopatra. Act iv. Sc. 14.

'T was when the sea was roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.

John Gay (1688-1732): The What d' ye call it. Act ii. Sc. 8.

Come one, come all! this rock shall fly

From its firm base as soon as I.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lady of the Lake. Canto v. Stanza 10.

For angling-rod he took a sturdy oake;

For line, a cable that in storm ne'er broke;

His hooke was such as heads the end of pole

To pluck down house ere fire consumes it whole;

The hook was baited with a dragon's tale,—

And then on rock he stood to bob for whale.

Sir William Davenant (1605-1668): Britannia Triumphans. Page 15. 1637.

The sounding cataract

Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

Their colours and their forms, were then to me

An appetite,—a feeling and a love,

That had no need of a remoter charm

By thoughts supplied, nor any interest

Unborrowed from the eye.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

Me let the tender office long engage

To rock the cradle of reposing age;

With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,

Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,

And keep awhile one parent from the sky.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. Prologue to the Satires. Line 408.

While man is growing, life is in decrease;

And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Night Thoughts. Night v. Line 717.

I am as a weed

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail

Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 2.

The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,

And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed.

John Keble (1792-1866): Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.

The hills,

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878): Thanatopsis.