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Æschylus Antistrophe artsul awsul Bard beam beauty behold beneath blessings blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breathe bright brow charms CHRISTOPHER SMART CIRCASSIA croud crown'd Dæmon death delight divine doth dwell ECLOGUE eyes fair fame fate Finedon flame fond foul Gaul glow Goddess grace gratesul grove hail hand heart heaven honours hour Hymen ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE JOHN DOLBEN light lise lov'd Lycon lyre maid mind mournsul Muse night numbers nymph o'er pale peace peacesul Pindus pity plain pleas'd praise pride rage rapture reign rise round sacred scene shade shepherds shine shore sields sigh sing sire sirst six'd smile soft solemn song sooth sorrow soul sound spread strain stream swain sweet swist tear tender thee thine thou thro throne toil trembling truth tunesul vale Virtue Virtue's voice wake waves wild wing youth
Page 4 - Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around,! The morn that lights you, to your loves...
Page 45 - He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.
Page 37 - The band, as fairy legends say, Was wove on that creating day . When He, who call'd with thought to birth...
Page 34 - On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait ; Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue ; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice, Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.
Page 38 - Of rude access, of prospect wild, Where, tangled round the jealous steep, Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep, And holy Genii guard the rock, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, While on its rich ambitious head, An Eden, like his own, lies spread.
Page 34 - Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare: On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait: Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE.
Page 7 - Ye mute Companions of my Toils, that bear In all my Griefs a more than equal Share!
Page 20 - With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe, When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his...