British Anthologies, Volume 9

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Edward Arber
Henry Frowde, 1900 - English poetry

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Page 3 - I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting, by repose : I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my...
Page 6 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side: But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies. He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Page 15 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind...
Page xii - The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down...
Page xii - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene...
Page ix - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. < And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Page 71 - One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd 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 69 - Aeolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take: The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales and Ceres...
Page 2 - Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown...
Page 69 - 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.

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