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arms beneath blood boſom breaſt breath charms child cold dark dead dear death deep deſpair dread ev'ry eyes face fair fall fate fear feel figh fire flow give grave green grief hand head hear heard heart Heav'n hope hour kind land laſt light live look maid mind MISCELLANY morn mourn muſt native nature never night o'er once pain peace pity plain POETICAL poor pow'r pride reſt riſe round ſad ſaid ſaw ſay ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſoon ſorrow ſoul ſpirit ſtill ſtream ſweet tear tell tender thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought toil trembling Twas vale virtue voice waves weeping whoſe wild wind wiſh wretch young youth
Página 10 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch. And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Página 7 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Página 10 - 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...
Página 5 - How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Página 8 - Some village-Hampden, that with dauntlefs breaft The little Tyrant of his fields withftood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft, Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.. Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to defpife, To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land, And read their...
Página 7 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Página 7 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, , The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.