The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray

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W. Pickering, 1851 - 223 Seiten
 

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Seite 35 - And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it.
Seite 109 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 34 - 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.
Seite 12 - Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty : Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry : Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Seite 14 - Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Seite 101 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Seite 96 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Seite 37 - Thro' the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun: 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 T.
Seite 97 - 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.
Seite 105 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

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