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Abrocomes Ælla Æschylus arms beauty behold beneath bloom bosom brave breast brow Catcott charms Chatterton chief dear death Demaratus Diomedon divine dread ELEGY epic poetry Ev'n ev'ry fable fair fame fate flame flower foul genius glory golden grace Grecian Greece grief grove hand happy head hear heart heav'n hero honour hope Hyperanthes immortal king kynge Lacedemon Leonidas lord lyre maid Medon mighty mind mournful muse nature night numbers nymph o'er Oileus passion peace Persian Phocian plain poem poet poetical poetry Polydorus pow'r praise pride rage round sacred scene shade shore sigh smile soft song sorrow Spartan spear spryte strain stream swain sweet tear tender Theban Thebes thee thie thine thou thought toil tow'rs trembling Tydeus vale virtue voice warriors waves wild winds wylle wythe Xerxes youth
Page 271 - Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds And nameless deserts, unpoetic ground ! Far from his friends he stray'd, recording thus The dear remembrance of his native fields, To cheer the tedious night ; while slow disease Prey'd on his pining vitals, and the blasts Of dark December shook his humble cot.
Page 133 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair...
Page 553 - Those were once my sailors bold, Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, While his dismal tale is told.
Page 264 - Hides from thy scorn its modest head, Shall fill the air with fragrant breath, When thou art in thy dusty bed.
Page 268 - IX. Earl Barnard was of high degree, And lord of many a Lowland hind, And long for Ellen love had he, Had love, but not of gentle kind. From Moray's halls her absent...
Page 215 - Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery baptized in tears.
Page 240 - To heaven she turns in deep despair, Her infants wonder at her prayer, And, mingling tears they know not why, Lift up their little hands, and cry.
Page 553 - Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.