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Page 124 - REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po ; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, A weary waste expanding to the skies ; Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Page 338 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook...
Page 298 - Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares, And frantic Passions, hear thy soft control.
Page 3 - I, clapping my hands cheerily together, that was I in a desert, I would find out wherewith in it to call forth my affections : — if I could not do better, I would fasten them upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to; — I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection ; — I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest trees throughout the desert; — if their leaves withered, I would teach myself to mourn: — and when...
Page 458 - Or gazed in merry clusters by your side ? Ye who can smile — to wisdom no disgrace — At the arch meaning of a kitten's face ; If spotless innocence, and infant mirth, Excites to praise, or gives reflection birth ; In shades like these pursue your favorite joy, Midst Nature's revels, sports that never cloy.
Page 253 - Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm ; And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan, Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear.
Page 71 - Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide ; Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth, For well I know, wherever ye reside, There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide.
Page 229 - I sit by the mossy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is rustling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer descend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is seen. It is mid-day: but all is silent.
Page 242 - There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon, Beginning faint, but rising still more loud, And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far and keen: — Forthwith the hubbub multiplies; the gale Labours with wilder shrieks, and rifer din Of hot pursuit; the broken cry of deer Mangled by throttling dogs; the shouts of men, And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill.