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Page 454 - Ah! little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death And all the sad variety of pain. How many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man.
Page 514 - THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of THEE. Forth in the pleasing Spring THY beauty walks, THY tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart is joy. Then comes THY glory in the Summer months, With light and heat refulgent.
Page 520 - Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Page 528 - Still sing the God of seasons as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray...
Page 116 - Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, Attuning all their passions into love ; Where friendship full exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem enlivened by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence : for nought but love Can answer love, and render bliss secure.
Page 114 - But happy they ! the happiest of their kind ! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, Attuning all their passions into love ; Where Friendship...
Page 82 - The stately-sailing swan Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale, And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle, Protective of his young.
Page 132 - Falsely luxurious, will not man awake; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour To meditation due and sacred song? For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half •The fleeting moments of too short a life; Total extinction of th
Page 190 - The palace stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, With labour burn, and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves His last...