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ANTISTROPHE appear bard beneath birds boast BODHAM born bosom breast breath brows Cacus call'd CALLIMACHUS Cowper dear death delight Delos Dereham divine e'en Eartham East Dereham eºe ev'ry eyes fair fame Faunus fears fire friendship gentle Gºe grace grove hand happy Hayley heart Heav'n homeless birds Homer honour hope John Throckmorton Jove kind kinsman labour lady Hesketh lambs length lingua ignota liv'd lyre Mary mind morning Mundsley Muse ne'er never night num'rous numbers nymphs o'er once pain Pallas Phoebus poem poet pow'r praise prove publick rest rose scarcely scene seek your home shade shine shore sight sing skies smile song soon spirits spring stout spurs sweet tears thee theme thine thou hast thoughts translation Twas Unwin verse vex'd voice Weston WILLIAM COWPER WILLIAM HAYLEY wish worth youth
Strana 110 - TOLL for the brave ! The brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was over-set ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.
Strana 250 - Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repelled; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried 'Adieu!
Strana 216 - Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in.
Strana 218 - The feller's toil, which thou could'st ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs, Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.
Strana 251 - And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme, A more enduring date. But misery still delights to trace Its 'semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay'd, No- light propitious shone; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd each alone : But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
Strana 109 - The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves by thumps upon your back How he esteems your merit, Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, .
Strana 32 - I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and of course the first on which I open my eyes in the morning.
Strana 111 - With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full...
Strana 13 - I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in his house, but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days in Southampton Row, as you very well remember. There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor, constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the law.
Strana 217 - Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds — Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life In all that live — plant, animal, and man, And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works, Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force that agitates not unimpair'd ; But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe.