The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, Volume 49, Page 2

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Page 248 - 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 Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Page 286 - Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal...
Page 247 - Of rude access, of prospect wild, Where, tangled round the jealous steep, Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep, And holy genii guard the rock, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, While on its rich ambitious head An Eden, like his own, lies spread...
Page 259 - 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-discover'd spires, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.
Page 231 - Schiraz' walls I bent my way !" Curst be the gold and silver which persuade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade ! The lily peace outshines the silver store, And life is dearer than the golden ore: Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, To every distant mart and wealthy town.
Page 254 - Their triumphs to th' immortal string. How may the poet now unfold, What never tongue or numbers told ? How learn, delighted and...
Page 310 - 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 274 - No withered witch shall here be seen; No goblins lead their nightly crew: The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew ! The redbreast oft, at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.
Page 267 - Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
Page 176 - Father bends his eye On the least wing that flits along the sky. To him they sing when spring renews the plain, To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign ; Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain: He hears the gay, and the distressful call; And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

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