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Page 370 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Page 371 - Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest among them all, Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess, Till they die of their own dear loveliness...
Page 371 - Here the gray smooth trunks Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine Within the twilight of their distant shades ; There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs.
Page 468 - Accordingly we find, that, in every kingdom, into which money begins to flow in greater abundance than formerly, everything takes a new face : labour and industry gain life ; the merchant becomes more enterprising, the manufacturer more diligent and skilful, and even the farmer follows his plough with greater alacrity and attention.
Page 99 - LIFE IN LONDON : or, the Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his Elegant Friend, Corinthian Tom.
Page 112 - Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), " O, come ye in peace here or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar...
Page 168 - Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other: And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their tongues and be their talk, Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise, His lot who dares be singularly good. Th' intelligent among them and the wise Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised.
Page 331 - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Page 370 - Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.
Page 86 - To bridle a goddess is no very delicate idea; but why must she be bridled? because she longs to launch ? an act which was never hindered by a bridle: and whither will she launch? into a nobler strain.