What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
appear arms band Bank Bard beneath breath Cambridge College compenſation COUNTRY death deep diſtant Earl edition Edward Eton face fame fate father fire firſt gave genius give grace Gray Gray's hand head hear heard heart hence Henry holy human hundred pounds Ibid Italy kind King Lady laid land laſt laughing leave light lines live London Lord Love Maſon Memory mind Morn mother Muſe night notes o'er ODIN once pain perſon PINDARIC poems Poet Power publiſher Queen reign round ſaid ſay ſee ſeen ſhade ſhall ſhe ſide ſome ſoul ſtand ſtate STORY ſtrains ſuch ſum tear thee theſe THOMAS thou thro Till triumph verſes viſit voice wait wave Weave whoſe wind wing youth
Page 156 - 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 100 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Page 45 - To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.
Page 91 - Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate. Beneath the Good how far— but far above the Great.
Page 96 - To arms ! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.. I. 2 On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Page 156 - 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.
Page 149 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Page 60 - 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!