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arms bards bear beauty beneath blest bliss breast cause charms claim court crown delight earth ease Edward EPIGRAM Ev'n eyes fair false fame fate fear feel fire flame flow fond force Genius gentle give glorious glory grace grove hand happy head hear heart heav'n Hence honour hope hour human immortal justice kind king knight laws liberty light lord lost means mind move Muse nature nature's never noble o'er once pain passion peace plain pleasure pow'r praise pride prince rage reason rest rich rise round rule sacred sense shade sing slave smiling soft song soon soul spirit spread spring sweet tears tell thee thine thou thought throne toils train truth vain verse virtue voice wealth wise wish youth
Page 322 - Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Page 324 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate. Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Page 54 - Seek to be good, but aim not to be great: A woman's noblest station is retreat; Her fairest virtues fly from public sight, Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
Page 85 - In vain I look around O'er all the well-known ground, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry ; Where oft we us'd to walk, Where oft in tender talk We saw the summer Sun go down the sky...
Page 47 - To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,. If high exalted on the Throne of Wit, Near Me and Homer thou afpire to fit...
Page 87 - Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe! Now she, alas! is gone, From folly and from vice their helpless age to save...
Page 321 - 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 324 - A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo!