Poems

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author, 1762 - English poetry - 277 pages
 

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Page 239 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Page 257 - 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 243 - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, , The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Page 241 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 253 - Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...
Page 255 - One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; " 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 50 - Apollo there, with aim so clever, Stretches his leaden bow for ever; And there, without the pow'r to fly, Stands fix'da tip-toe Mercury.
Page 241 - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Page 249 - Penury reprefs'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the foul, Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blufh unfeen, And wafte its fweetnefs on the defart air.
Page 239 - The plowman 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...

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