Moore. Cawthorne. Collins. Dyer. Shenstone. Mallet. Akenside. Gray. Littleton. Gay

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A. Miller, 1800 - English poetry
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Page 65 - Wide and wider spreads the vale, As circles on a smooth canal ; The mountains round, unhappy fate! Sooner or later, of all height, Withdraw their summits from the skies...
Page 39 - Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star * arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car.
Page 278 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Page 50 - Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal...
Page 36 - 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 278 - Tis folly to be wise. HYMN TO ADVERSITY DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When...
Page 35 - And, lest thou meet my blasted view, Hold each strange tale devoutly true ; Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd, In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad, When ghosts, as...
Page 279 - 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.
Page 50 - What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I view his printed feet : And fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger...
Page 412 - of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler pass'd you by; How strong are those ! how weak am I ! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then. You know my heart, But dearest friends, alas ! must part. How shall we all lament ! Adieu ! For see, the hounds are just in view.

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