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Anacreon Antistrophe Baiae bard beam beneath blank verse bless blest bliss bloom bosom breast breath bright charms dear death delight earth EPIGRAM ev'ry fair fame fate feel fire Flagellum flame fond Genius gloom glory glow grace grief grove hand hast heart Heaven Henry Kirke White hope hour Imitation of Martial Leonidas of Tarentum lov’d lyre maid mind Monody mourn Muse ne'er night nymph o'er pain peace Pindar plain pleas'd pleasure Poems poetical pow'r praise pride proud R. B. SHERIDAN resound rise round sacred Satire scene scorn shade shore sigh skies Small 8vo smile soft song SONNET sooth sorrows soul spirit spring strain sweet taste tears Theatre Royal thee Theodore Edward Hook thine thou thro throne toil translation vale verse virtue wave weep wild youth
Page 553 - Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff : you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
Page 421 - COME, take up your hats, And away let us haste To the Butterfly's ball And the Grasshopper's feast; The trumpeter Gadfly Has summon'd the crew, And the revels are now Only waiting for you.
Page 348 - SEE the leaves around us falling, Dry and withered, to the ground; Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, In a sad and solemn sound.
Page 421 - And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black, Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back ; And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too ; With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.
Page 102 - MY soul, praise the Lord, speak good of his name ! His mercies record, his bounties proclaim : To God, their creator, let all creatures raise The song of thanksgiving, the chorus of praise ! 2 Though hid from man's sight, God sits on his throne, Yet here by his works their Author is known : The world shines a mirror its Maker to show, And heaven views its image reflected below. 3...
Page 327 - He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning: And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not Poetry, but prose run mad: All these, my modest Satire bade translate, And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate.
Page 422 - Snail, with his horns peeping out from his shell, Came from a great distance — the length of an ell. A mushroom their table, and on it was laid A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made ; The viands were various, to each of their taste, And the Bee brought his honey to crown the repast. There, close on his haunches, so solemn and wise, The Frog from a corner looked up to the skies ; And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversion to see, Sat cracking his nuts overhead in a tree.
Page 222 - Wide as th' inspiring Phoebus darts his ray, Diffusive splendor gilds his votary's lay. Whether the song heroic woes rehearse, With epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse ; Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile, Attempt no prize but favouring beauty's smile ; Or bear dejected to the lonely grove • The soft despair of unprevailing love, — Whate'er the theme — through every age and clime Congenial passions meet th' according rhyme ; The pride of glory — pity's sigh sincere — Youth's earliest...
Page 223 - Th' expressive glance — whose subtle comment draws Entranced attention, and a mute applause; Gesture that marks , with force and feeling fraught , A sense in silence, and a will in thought; Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own...