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Page 252 - The oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving: Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 69 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown : He raised a mortal to the skies: She drew an angel down.
Page 61 - Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? I did not err, there does a sable cloud •Turn forth her silver lining on the night...
Page 169 - Where on the ^Egean shore a city stands, Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil ; Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades. See there the olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long; There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound Of bees...
Page 64 - I saw them under a green mantling vine, That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. Their port was more than human as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Page 156 - I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep: a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why; until there rose From the near schoolroom, voices, that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
Page 52 - His nature is too noble for the world : He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his power to thunder.
Page 253 - In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat.
Page 69 - Music the fiercest grief can. charm, And Fate's severest rage disarm ; Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please : Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above. This the divine Cecilia found, And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, Th...
Page 101 - Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; Too blest indeed, were such without alloy, But foster'd even by Freedom ills annoy : That independence Britons prize too high, Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie...