The Poetical Works of William Collins: With Memoirs of the Author; and Observations on His Genius and Writings

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T. Evans, 1781 - 184 pages
 

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Page 55 - 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 172 - 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 72 - 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 86 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 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 82 - E'en at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Page 97 - 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 47 - O thou, whose spirit most possest The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast! By all that from thy prophet broke. In thy divine emotions spoke ; Hither again thy fury deal, Teach me but once like him to feel : His cypress wreath my meed decree, And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee ! ODE TO SIMPLICITY.
Page 73 - ... The gradual dusky veil, While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont> And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light : While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes : So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name ! ODE TO PEACE.
Page 50 - As once, if not with light regard,. I read aright that gifted Bard, (Him whose school above the rest His loveliest Elfin queen has blest) One, only one, unrival'd Fair*, Might hope the magic girdle wear...
Page 67 - Britannia's genius bends to earth, And mourns the fatal day : While stain'd with blood he strives to tear Unseemly from his sea-green hair The wreaths of cheerful May: The thoughts which musing Pity pays, And fond Remembrance loves to raise, Your faithful hours attend : Still Fancy to herself unkind, Awakes to grief the soften'd mind, And points the bleeding friend.

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