The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volume 56 (Google eBook)

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H. Hughs, 1779 - English poetry
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Page 333 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Page 334 - 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 333 - 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 : Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page 331 - Tis folly to be wise. 287 HYMN TO ADVERSITY DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When...
Page 348 - The winding-sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace: Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king!
Page 72 - Though meek, magnanimous, though witty, wise; Polite, as all her life in courts had been, Yet good, as she the world had never seen; The noble fire of an exalted mind, With gentlest female tenderness combin'd.
Page 342 - 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...
Page 347 - And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. ' Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they wave.
Page 64 - Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe! Now she, alas! is gone, From folly and from vice their helpless age to save...
Page 335 - Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife, Their fober wifhes never learn'd to ftray ; Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life They kept the noifelefs tenor of their way.

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