A collection of poems, by several hands [ed. by R. Dodsley]. [2 other copies of vols. 5,6]., Volume 61765 |
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bard beauty behold beneath beſt beſtow bleffings bleft bluſh boaſt bofom breaſt charms cloſe diſtant eaſe Ev'n facred fafe fage faid fair fame fate feat fhade fhall fhew fhine fhould figh fight filent fince firſt flow'rs fmile foft folar folemn fome fong fons foul freſh friendſhip ftate ftill fuch fure fweet fwell genius glory Goddeſs grace grove gueſt hand heart heav'n himſelf juſt laſt Latian lefs loft lyre mind moſt Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiads ne'er numbers Nymphs o'er paffion peace plain pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure pow'r praiſe purſue raiſe reaſon reft reſt rife ſcene ſenſe ſhade ſhall ſhe ſky ſmile ſpeak ſpread ſprings ſtands ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtrain ſtream ſtrong ſweet taſk taſte thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou thouſand toil truth vale verſe virtue Whilft whofe Whoſe wife wings Wiſdom youth
Popular passages
Page 385 - 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 385 - 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 37 - 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 389 - Mighty victor, mighty lord ! Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.
Page 388 - 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 393 - 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 381 - 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 384 - 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 389 - 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 317 - 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.