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Acrostic agen Apollo AUTHOR Bard blest brain breast brow CATULLUS charms cloaths confest dame decus Delos divine dull dunce e'en e'er ease easy EPISTLE etiam ev'ry eyes fair fame fancy fear fense flame foes folks Folly fond fool form'd forsan genius glorious grace hæc hate head heart Hero inglorius isle juventus king ladies Latona learned letters look lyre maid mighty mind Morpheu muse Muse's ne'er never numbers nymph o'er once pains Phœbus pleas'd poet poet's pow'r praise pride prose quadruped Quæ quam rage rhime rhyme right of conquest ROBERT LLOYD sacred shame shew sibi sine sire smile sober strong sure talk taste tell thee things thou thought thro throne thrush tow'ring Tristram Shandy Tuque Twas Valois verse virtues wife winds woes wond'rous word wou'd Wretch write
Page 188 - 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 190 - The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
Page 198 - 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 204 - 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 200 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Page 198 - Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd Mufe, The place of fame and elegy fupply : And many a holy text around fhe ftrews, That teach the ruftic moralift to dye.
Page 196 - Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to defpife, To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land, And read their...
Page 190 - 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.