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Ĉolian beneath bluſh breaſt breath bufy Burſting Cambria's Clare cloſe death difdain dreft Dryden's Duke of Grafton Earl Edward Eirin Elifabeth EPITAPH ETON COLLEGE ev'ry eyes fable fate fecret feen fend fhade fhaggy fhall fide fince fing firſt flain fleep fmile foft folemn fome fong forrow foul fpirit fpring ftate ftill ftream ftyle fublime fweet Gilbert de Clare glitt'ring glory golden Gray hafty hand Hark Hauberk heart Heav'n Henry the Sixth Hoder's HOEL iſland King lance Lord loves lyre maid Margaret of Anjou Milton Milton's Paradife Mufe Mufe's numbers o'er ODIN paffions pain Petrarch PINDARIC pleafing pleaſure poetry Profe Prophetefs PROPHETES Quarto reft reign repofe repoſe Rofe ſay ſhall ſmiling ſpeed ſpread ſtate ſteep ſteps ſtrains ſtretch Talieffin tear thee thefe theſe thou thro Trinity College triumph vale voice Weave weep Weft Welsh whofe youth
Page 135 - 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.
Page 46 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of joy ; Of horror that...
Page 134 - 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 132 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 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...
Page 125 - 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 127 - Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Page 40 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Page 140 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Page 59 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a...