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arms beauty beneath bloom bow'r breaſt breath bright bring charms clouds crown dear death delight eyes face fair fame Fancy fate fear feel fields fight fire flow fond gentle give grace grief grove hand head hear heart heav'n hill honour hope hour kind laſt laws learned leave Liberty light live maid mind morn mourn Muſe muſt Nature never night nymphs o'er o’er once pain peace plain pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride riſe roſe round ſacred ſay ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhine ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſong ſoul ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet taſte tears tell thee theſe thoſe thou thought toil train true truth vain virtue voice whoſe winds wiſh youth
Seite 174 - On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes let Swedish Charles decide ; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire ; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific...
Seite 11 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 6 - 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.
Seite 175 - He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Seite 380 - 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...
Seite 7 - 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.
Seite 10 - Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...
Seite 277 - Our portion is not large, indeed ; But then how little do we need ! For nature's calls are few : In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do.
Seite 10 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Seite 379 - But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green. But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.