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appear attend bear beauty beneath bids bliſs bloom breaſt breath bright bring charms cheek cheerful clouds Content dear death delight deſcends earth ev'ry face fair fall fate fear fields fire firſt flow gentle give glories glow grace grove hand happineſs head hear heart heav'n hill hope hour human kind laſt light live meet mind morn mountain mourn nature nature's never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſing pleaſure praiſe pride reſt riſe roll roſe round ſcene ſee ſenſe ſhade ſhall ſhe ſing ſkies ſmiling ſoft ſome ſong ſorrow ſoul ſpread ſpring ſtars ſtill ſuch ſun ſweet tear thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought train trembling truth tuneful turns vale virtue voice walks whoſe wild wind wings wood youth
Страница 150 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Страница 186 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend.
Страница 178 - Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot...
Страница 183 - Come, and trip it as you go, On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; And if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free...
Страница 193 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Страница 99 - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
Страница 82 - Or aught Thy goodness lent. Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Страница 149 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.