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appear bear beauty beneath birds blessings blows blue bosom bound branches breast breath bright bursts busy cheerful clouds cold death deep delight descend distant earth ev'ry eyes fall father fear field flocks flood flower follow gale golden green ground grows hand hare head hear heart hills horns hour kiss land leave light limbs live mind morn mountains nature never night o'er once plain play pleasure poor POPE'S pride rage rise rocks roll scene Seasons seen shade shining shore shower side sight silver sing skies sleep snow soft song soon soul sound spread spring stand storms stream summer swain sweet swell tear tempest thee thou thro tide toil trees trembling vale various waste waters wave wide wild winds wing Winter woods young youth
Page 18 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Page 67 - See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again ; The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Page 104 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 4 - O tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know.
Page 55 - Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz
Page 31 - 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 144 - No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar...
Page 102 - What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted ! Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just ; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
Page 48 - While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But more...