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afterwards appeared beauty believe body born called character church court death died English eyes fair fall father fear feeling fields give hand happy head hear heart heaven honour hope hour human Italy kind king lady learning leave less letters light live look Lord manner master means mind moral nature never night o'er observed once passed passion person pleasure poem poet poor Pope present published reason received rest rise round says scene seems seen side soon soul speak spirit style sure sweet taste tell thee things thou thought tion took true truth turn virtue whole write written wrote young youth
Seite 21 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Seite 64 - THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, . Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misery all he had, a tear: He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.
Seite 133 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
Seite 395 - Unanxious for ourselves ; and only wish, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty man suspects himself a fool: Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves; and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Seite 3 - Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day ! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On nature write with every beam his praise.
Seite 64 - 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 can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 395 - Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, " That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born : All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least their own ; their future selves...
Seite 21 - midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ; And hears their simple bell ; and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.
Seite 193 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Seite 22 - When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell ; Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the muse's painting ; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round, They snatched her instruments of sound ; And as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her...