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appears arms attend Author bear beauties beneath breaſt breath Cambridge charms College death deep Delia Edward ELEGY ev'ry eyes fair fame fate fear feel fields fire firſt flow gave gentle give gold golden grace Gray green hand head hear heart himſelf honour hope human it's Italy kind King Lady laſt learning leave light lines live loft Lord lover maid mind morn moſt Muſe nature never night o'er once pain pleaſe pleaſure Poet poetical poetry pride Queen reſt round ſame ſaw ſay ſecret ſee ſeems ſhade ſhall ſhe ſmile ſome ſoul ſtate ſtill ſtrain ſuch ſweet tear tender thee theſe thoſe thou thought thro Till triumph vain virtue voice weep whoſe wing writers youth
Page 79 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 47 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Page 78 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th...
Page 76 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th
Page 51 - 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 34 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah ! why should they know their fate ? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more ; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Page 4 - 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 17 - ... always to mean more than he said. Would you have any more reasons? An interval of above forty years has pretty well destroyed the charm.
Page 43 - Thro' the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. THE BARD. A Pindaric Ode. I. i. seize thee, ruthless King ! Confusion on thy banners wait ; Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.