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appear arms aweful beauty behold beneath bliss breast breath bright charms cheerful cloud court crowd death delight divine earth ease face fair faithful fame fate fear field flow Fortune genius give glory grace grove hand happy head hear heart heav'n honour hope hour human kind kings known land laws leave light live look mean meet mind morn mortal Muse Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleasure pow'r praise pride pursue rest rise round sacred scene seat shade smile soft song sons soul springs stands steps strain stream sure sweet tell thee things thou thought toil tongue true truth vain virtue voice wave wind wings wise youth
Page 387 - 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 ! ODE VI.
Page 39 - The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying.
Page 391 - Mighty victor, mighty lord ! Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.
Page 390 - With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. II. 1 'Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace...
Page 395 - 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 383 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Page 386 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Page 391 - 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.