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amid appeared beam beauty beneath breath bright called charms clouds dark death deep delight earth edition fair fall fields fire flame flood flow force gives glory grace hand happy head heart heaven Hence hills human Italy kind land Liberty light lines live look lost mind mixed mountains muse nature night Note o'er o’er once original passage passions peace plain pleasing poem pours pride race rage raise reign rise rocks roll round scene seas Seasons shade shine shore sing smile soft song sons soul sounding spirit spread Spring storm stream sweet swell tender thee Thomson thou thought thousand till toil touch train turn vale various verse virtue waste wave whole wide wild winds wing Winter wonders woods
Page 420 - When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main ; This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain : " Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; Britons never will be slaves!
Page 280 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny : You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living stream at eve. Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Page 249 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant, barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song, — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, — 'tis nought to me; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
Page 224 - Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah, whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ; those unsolid hopes Of happiness ; those longings after fame ; Those restless cares ; those busy bustling days ; Those gay-spent, festive nights ; those veering thoughts. Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ; All now are vanished : Virtue sole survives, Immortal, never-failing friend of...
Page 45 - Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe th' enlivening spirit and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Page 195 - Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, Though timorous of heart, and hard beset By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, With looks of dumb despair; then, sad-dispersed, Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow.
Page 247 - 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. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Page 11 - Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion, running from the red To where the violet fades into the sky.
Page 196 - As thus the snows arise, and foul and fierce All winter drives along the darkened air, In his own loose-revolving fields the swain Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend, Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain: Nor finds the river, nor the forest hid Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home Rush...
Page 225 - In starving solitude; while Luxury, In palaces, lay straining her low thought, To form unreal wants: why heaven-born Truth, And Moderation fair, wore the red marks Of Superstition's scourge : why licens'd Pain, That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, Imbitter'd all our bliss.