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Anon ballad beauty blest bold bonny brave breast bright Carterhaugh charms Child Waters Chloe Clerk Saunders Countess of Winchilsea dead dear death delight divine dost doth Earl ev'ry eyes fair Fair Annie fame fate fear fire flame flowers frae gold grace grave green hand hast hath hear heart Heaven Hind Horn king Kinmont Willie kiss kynge lady light Little Musgrave Litull John live Lord lover Mary Ambree Milton mind mother Muse ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er pain Persè pleasure poets praise Queen quoth Robin Hood Robyn Hode rose sacred Scottish Border seid shade shine sighs sing sleep smile Song soul stars sweet Tam Lin tears tell thee thine things Thomas Traherne thou art thought tree Twas verse weep Whilst wind wine wings young
Page 254 - Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and, with new spangled ore, Flames in the forehead of the morning sky...
Page 1 - MAY MORNING. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Page 252 - And question'd every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked Promontory; They knew not of his story, And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The Ayr was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It was that fatall and perfidious Bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
Page 192 - He that is down needs fear no fall, He that is low, no pride; He that is humble, ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Page 13 - When we have run our passion's heat, Love hither makes his best retreat. The Gods, that mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race ; Apollo hunted Daphne so, Only that she might laurel grow ; And Pan did after Syrinx speed, Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
Page 170 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with* thee Jest and youthful Jollity. Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Page 176 - But first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation ; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest saddest plight.
Page 13 - Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide: There like a bird it sits, and sings, Then whets, and combs its silver wings; And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Page 243 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise...