Poems, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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J. Dodsley, 1768 - 119 pages
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Page 119 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite 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 church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 109 - 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 112 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 111 - 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 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 ! Still is the toiling hand of Care ; The panting herds repose : Yet hark, how thro...
Page 20 - 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.
Page 47 - 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.
Page 119 - 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...
Page 114 - 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...
Page 50 - 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.

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