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art thou Befide beneath breaft breath bufy Caithness Cambria's chear clofe cloſe Death Denmark Deſpair Difdainful diftant dread dreft drop'd Dryden's Earl Edward Eirin endless night eyes fable fate fecret feen fend fhade fhaggy fhall fince firſt flaughter fleep foft folemn fome fong forrow foul ftately ftill ftrains ftream fublime glitt'ring glory Goddeſs griefly hafty hand Hark harmony Hauberk heart Heav'n Henry the Sixth Hoder's iſland Italy King Lancaſter lance Lefs loft Lord Love lyre Maid Milton Milton's Paradife Muſe ne'er noife numbers o'er Odin OWEN Paffions pain Petrarch PINDARIC PINDARIC ODE pleafing pleaſure purple purſue Quarto refts reign repofe rill ſay ſee ſeen ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile Snowdon ſpeed ſpread ſpring ſteep ſweet Talieffin tear thee thefe theſe thoſe thou thro trembling triumph voice wave Weave Welsh Where'er whofe whoſe YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY youth
Page 117 - 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.
Page 107 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman 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...
Page 110 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 5 - O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd ! How low, how little, are the proud ! How indigent the great...
Page 109 - 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.
Page 69 - 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 23 - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th
Page 48 - Through 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 ! ODE VI.