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AElla againſt arms beſt boaſt boſom breaſt cauſe cloſe compoſitions courſe deſcending deſpair diſtant eſt ev'ry fair fame fate figh firſt fºr haſte heart heav'n hero himſelf hoſt Hyperanthes juſt laſt leſs loſt moſt muſe muſic muſt numbers o'er obſerved Oileus paſſion perſon plain pleaſe pleaſure poem pow'r praiſe preſent publiſhed rage raiſe reaſon reſt riſe roſe ſacred ſad ſaid ſame ſaw ſay ſcene ſeat ſecret ſee ſeems ſeen ſenſe ſet ſeveral ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhepherd ſhield ſhining ſhore ſhould ſhow ſide ſkies ſky ſleep ſmile ſoft ſome ſon ſong ſoon ſorrow ſoul ſound ſpear ſpirit ſpread ſpring ſtand ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtood ſtrain ſtream ſtrength ſtrong ſubject ſuch ſun ſure ſwain ſweet ſwelling ſword taſte Thebes thee theſe thoſe thou thouſand uſe verſe virtue warriors whoſe wiſh wylle wythe Xerxes youth
Page 269 - Thus sung the youth, amid unfertile wilds And nameless deserts, unpoetic ground ! Far from his friends he stray'd, recording thus The dear remembrance of his native fields, To cheer the tedious night ; while slow disease Prey'd on his pining vitals, and the blasts Of dark December shook his humble cot.
Page 133 - In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair...
Page 551 - Those were once my sailors bold, Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, While his dismal tale is told.
Page 262 - Hides from thy scorn its modest head, Shall fill the air with fragrant breath, When thou art in thy dusty bed.
Page 266 - IX. Earl Barnard was of high degree, And lord of many a Lowland hind, And long for Ellen love had he, Had love, but not of gentle kind. From Moray's halls her absent...
Page 213 - Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery baptized in tears.
Page 238 - To heaven she turns in deep despair, Her infants wonder at her prayer, And, mingling tears they know not why, Lift up their little hands, and cry.
Page 551 - Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.