Poésies de Gray

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Chez Lemierre, 1797 - 173 pages
 

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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 152 - 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 canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 13 - 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 54 - 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, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Page 56 - 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 ! ODE VI.
Page 38 - 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 36 - 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...
Page 100 - THE DESCENT OF ODIN. FROM THE NORSE TONGUE. UPROSE the King of Men with speed, And saddled straight his coal-black steed : Down the yawning steep he rode, That leads to Hela's drear abode. Him the Dog of Darkness spied, His shaggy throat he open'd wide, While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, Foam and human gore distill'd : Hoarse he bays with hideous din, Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin : And long pursues, with fruitless yell, The father of the powerful spell.
Page 56 - Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues...
Page 28 - Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god Some speedy aid to send. No dolphin came, no nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard.

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