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Page 59 - 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 55 - Perhaps he was the most learned man in Europe. He was equally acquainted with the elegant and profound parts of science, and that not superficially, but thoroughly. He knew every branch of history, both natural and civil; had read all the original historians of England, France, and Italy; and was a great antiquarian. Criticism...
Page 56 - in his was an affectation in delicacy, or rather cf" feminacy, and a vifible faftidioufnefs, or contempt, " and difdain of his inferiors in fcience. He alfo " had, in fome degree, that weaknefs which difgufted " Voltaire fo much in Mr. Congreve : though he " feemed to value others chiefly according to the pro...
Page 56 - ... merely as a man of letters; and though without birth, or fortune, or station, his desire was to be looked upon as a private independent gentleman, who read for his amusement.
Page 58 - To rush and sweep them from the world ! Too, too secure in youthful pride, By them, my friend, my Hoel, died, Great Cian's son : of Madoc old He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold ; Alone in Nature's wealth array'd, He ask'd and had the lovely Maid.
Page 59 - Or the grape's ecstatic juice. Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn, But none from Cattraeth's vale return, Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong, (Bursting through the bloody throng) And I, the meanest of them all, That live to weep and sing their fall.
Page 57 - What signifies so much knowledge, when it produced so little? Is it worth taking so much pains to leave no memorial but a few poems?
Page 59 - And redd'ning Phcebus lifts his golden fire : The birds in vain their amorous descant join; Or cheerful fields resume their green attire : These ears, alas ! for other notes repine, A different object do these eyes require. My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine ; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Page 59 - And in my breaft the imperfect joys expire. Yet morning fmiles the bufy race to cheer, And new-born pleafure brings to happier men : The fields to all their wonted tribute bear : To warm their little loves the birds complain...