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Alcaic stanza Amor ancient Anicetus Antrobus appears atque Baiae Bard beautiful called Cambridge Cicero Claudian College Comus Cowley death Dodsley Dryden Dunciad Eclog edition Eirin Eleg Elegy English Essay Eton College expression fame fate ffin genius Georg Gray Gray's hath honour Horace ignes imitation king language Latin letter Lord Lucret Lucretius Luke Margaret of Anjou Masinissa Mason says Mason's Memoirs Mathias Milt Milton mind Muse nature o'er oculos Odin Ovid passage Petrarch Pindar poem poet poetical poetry Pope printed Propert Prophetess published quae rhyme Rogers satire sister smile soft song Spenser Spring stanza Statius syllable taste thee THOMAS GRAY Thomson thou thought thro translated vale verse viii Virg Wakefield Walpole Walpole's Warton weep West word write written wrote
Page 110 - 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 14 - Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Page 16 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah ! why should they know their fate ? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more ! where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise ! ODE IV.
Page 109 - The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne ; Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Page 43 - You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.
Page 52 - But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail.
Page 124 - See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Page 41 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. Robed in the sable garb of woe. With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air), And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Page cv - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...