The metrical miscellany: consisting chiefly of poems hitherto unpublished

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Page 103 - HAIL, blushing goddess, beauteous Spring, Who in thy jocund train dost bring Loves and Graces, smiling hours, Balmy breezes, fragrant flowers, Come, with tints of roseate hue, Nature's faded charms renew. Yet why should I thy presence hail ? To me no more the breathing gale Comes fraught with...
Page 101 - I'll love thee till I die— Hush'd be that sigh. And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death, That he who only breath'd for you, Must yield that faithful breath ? Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven here — Dry be that tear.
Page 216 - Nor scathe had he, nor harm nor dread, But, the same couch beneath, Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, Tremendous still in death. Ah, what was then...
Page 215 - And on went Gelert too; And still, where'er his eyes he cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
Page 214 - In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John ; but now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on. And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise, all Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries.
Page 217 - Best of thy kind, adieu! The frantic blow which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue.
Page 104 - Tis just that thou should'st heal the smart Inflicted by thy subtle art, And calm my troubled breast. No random shot from Cupid's bow, But by thy guidance, soft and slow, It sunk within my heart ; Thus, Love being arm'd with Wisdom's force, In vain I try to stop its course, In vain repel the dart. O Goddess ! break the fatal league, Let Love, with Folly and Intrigue, More fit associates find ! And thou alone, within my breast, O ! deign to soothe my griefs to rest, And heal my tortured mind.
Page 148 - By the sea's margin, on the watery strand, Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand. By this directed to thy native shore, The merchant shall convey his freighted store; And when our fleets are summon'd to the fight, Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight.
Page 32 - Till sorrow taught me to confess thy power. In early days, when fancy cheats, A various wreath I wove, Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets, To deck ungrateful love: The rose or thorn my numbers crown'd As Venus smil'd, or Venus frown'd, But love and joy, and all their train are flown.
Page 33 - I'd court thy palliative aid no more ! No more I'd sue that thou shouldst spread Thy spell around my aching hea.d, But would conjure thee to impart Thy balsam for a broken heart ; And by thy soft Lethean power (Inestimable flower !) Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions try.

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