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appear arms battle beauty beneath bless blood bosom bound bower brave breast breath bright charms chief child cried dark dead dear death deep died earth England face fair fall fame fate father fear feel fields fire flower gave give green grief hand head heard heart Heaven Hope hour Indian kind knew land leave light living lonely look Lord mind morn mountain native Nature never night o'er once pain pale passed peace pleasure Poet poor pride rise round scene scorn seemed seen shade shore sigh smile song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm sweet sword tears tell thee thou thought true truth Twas voice wave weep wild winds young youth
Page 296 - Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art...
Page 391 - A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Page 383 - Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes...
Page 148 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden, saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 286 - The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down...
Page 399 - Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.
Page 299 - Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep ! The good old sire, the first, prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe : But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
Page 290 - She, wretched matron, forced in age for bread To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed and weep till morn, — She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Page 331 - Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the man.