The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray

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Little, Brown, 1853 - 223 pages

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Page 16 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage ; Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age.
Page 156 - Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townshend ' to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining: Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and...
Page 109 - The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne ; Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 124 - See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Page 99 - Await alike the inevitable hour ; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, ' If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Page 63 - Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed oak. Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!
Page 56 - That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Page 43 - You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.
Page 14 - Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Page 7 - Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared ; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw ; and purr'd applause. Still had she gaz'd ; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream : Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Through richest purple to the view Betrayed a golden gleam.

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