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Page 222 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Page 371 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing...
Page 172 - Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, 'Tis now become a history little known That once we called the pastoral house our own Short-lived possession!
Page 232 - Let him follow me! By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe!
Page 288 - While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give ; See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust, Presented with a monumental bust. The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone.
Page 232 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha, for Scotland's King and Law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', Let him follow me!
Page 172 - Deprived of every joy I valued most, My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost ; Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, The dull effect of humour, or of spleen ! Still, still I mourn, with each returning day, Him snatch'd by fate, in early youth away. And her, through tedious years of doubt and pain, Fix'd in her choice, and faithful, but in vain...
Page 24 - FABLE VII. The Lion, the Fox, and the Geese. A LION, tir'd with state affairs, Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares, Resolv'd, remote from noise and strife, In peace to pass his latter life. It was proclaim'd ; the day was set: Behold the gen'ral council met. The Fox was viceroy nam'd.
Page 222 - Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.