A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies of vols. 5,6]. (Google eBook)

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Page 387 - 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.
Page 387 - Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear Two Coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding pace.
Page 39 - The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying.
Page 391 - Mighty victor, mighty lord ! Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.
Page 390 - With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. II. 1 'Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace...
Page 395 - 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 383 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Page 386 - 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 391 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Page 319 - With kind and generous truth thy bosom warm, And thy fair mind, like thy fair person, charm. To virtue thus and to thyself restored, By all admired, by one alone adored, Be to thy Harry ever kind and true, And live for him who more than dies for you.

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