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A Collection of the Most Esteemed Pieces of Poetry, That Have Appeared for ...
No preview available - 2016
arms beauty behold breaſt breath bright charms courts dear death deep delight doth dread ev'ry eyes face fair fame fate fear feel fire firſt flame flow foul gentle give glows grace green grove hand head hear heart heaven hope hour kind laſt lead leave light live look lord maid mind morn muſe muſt nature ne'er never night o'er once pain pale peace plain pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride proud rage riſe round ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſmile ſoft ſome ſong ſoul ſpread ſpring ſtill ſtream ſweet tear thee theſe thoſe thou thought thro toil train trembling truth turn vain virtue voice wake warm wave whoſe wind wing youth
Page 16 - What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger...
Page 26 - O thou, whose spirit most possest The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast! By all that from thy prophet broke. In thy divine emotions spoke ; Hither again thy fury deal, Teach me but once like him to feel : His cypress wreath my meed decree, And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee ! ODE TO SIMPLICITY.
Page 28 - And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum, with furious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.
Page 50 - No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn: Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them : "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; All earth-born cares are wrong; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Page 24 - Brood of fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait ; Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee? EPODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice Silent and pale in wild amazement hung.
Page 20 - Blest was the life that royal Abbas led : Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed. What if in wealth the noble maid excel ; The simple shepherd-girl can love as well.
Page 49 - TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go." " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
Page 55 - Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, ^ ^ Restored to love and thee. « Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign ; And shall we never, never part, My life — my all that's mine? « No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.
Page 16 - Death with shrieks directs their way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. " Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz...
Page 29 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.