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amavit ancient appear arms beauty beneath blood boast bound breast breathe bright charms court Cras amet crowd death deep dreadful eyes fair fame fate fear field fight fire flow frog give gods grace green grove hand head hear heart Heaven hour Jove kind king land learned less light living maid meet mind mortal Muse nature never night nymph o'er once Parnell plain pleasure poem poet Pope praise pride prince race rage rest rise rose round sacred scene seat shade shine shore side sight silent sing sire skies smiles soft song soul sound spring stand sweet tell thee thou thought thousand turn Twas vain verse waters wind wondering youth
Page 73 - Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. The busy sylphs surround their darling care, These set the head, and those divide the hair, Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown ; And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own. CANTO II. NOT with more glories, in th...
Page 100 - Far in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: Remote from man, with God he pass'd the Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
Page 107 - Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown. In sweet memorial rise before the throne : These charms, success in our bright region...
Page 120 - I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ; If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove ; 'Twas there of just and good he...
Page 117 - And left her debt to Addison unpaid, Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, And judge, Oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires ! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Page 95 - Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pass to God : A port of calms, a state of ease From the rough rage of swelling seas.
Page 6 - Let joy salute fair Rosamonda's shade, And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid, While now perhaps with Dido's ghost she roves, And hears and tells the story of their loves, Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate, Since Love, which made them wretched, made them great. Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan, Which gain'da Virgil and an Addison. TICKELL Then future ages with delight shall see How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; Or in fair series laurel'd bards be shown, A Virgil there,...
Page 72 - And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.