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arms bear beauty behold beneath breaſt breath bright charms clouds death deep delight earth ev'ry eyes face fair fall fame fate fear feel field figh fight fire firſt flow foes foul give glory grace grief grove hand happy head hear heart Heav'n hill hope hour it's kind king land laſt leave light live look mind morn mourn Muſe muſt Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride prince rage riſe round ſcene ſee ſenſe ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſoul ſpread ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought thro train trembling turn vain virtue voice wave whoſe wild winds wing youth
Page 145 - 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 canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 149 - 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...
Page 142 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 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.
Page 141 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page 145 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 147 - I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone.
Page 142 - 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.
Page 148 - 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. One would think she might like to retire To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear...
Page 442 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour, but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee!