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A R I O S T Amid amor array avail bear beauteous beauty beneath beside blest bliss blow born bosom breast bright CANTATA Del M E T A S T A S I CANTATA Del METASTASI charms cielo Crown'd dark death deep dolce e'er earth ev'ry eyes faggio fair faithless fear feels feet flow'rs FRANCESCO PETRARCA Full funk gentle glare gloom glows grief hamlet hand happy Hath heap heart heav'n hope Ikies kind kiss knows lambkins lawn lead life light lost Love Love's maid mead mind Numidi o'er pain parch'd PASTOR FIDO Phyllis PIETRO METASTASIO pity plain Poor pow'r praise pride proud rage rays reign repose retreat rill rose round shade sior siume sleep SONETTO SONG SONNET streams strife sweet tears tender thou thro trembling Unnumber'd vain wak'd wanton waves weeds Whence wild winds wretch wretched zephyr
Page 134 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 124 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 130 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...
Page 132 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 122 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Page 128 - Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the fpoils of Time did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the foul.
Page 126 - Await alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to Thefe the fault, If Mem'ry o'er their Tomb no Trophies raife, Where thro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.
Page 124 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.