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appear beauty beneath Born breaſt breath BROWN charms cloſe court dear death dyed ev'ry eyes face fair fame fate fear fire firſt flow foul gentle give green grief grove hand head hear heart heav'n hill hope hour King land laws leave light live look lord maid mind mournful Muſe muſt Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſing pleaſure Poems Poet poor pow'r praiſe pride rage reſt riſe round ſcenes ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſome ſong ſoul ſpread ſpring ſtate ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe thine things thoſe thou thought thro train true truth turn vain Verſe virtue wealth whoſe wild wretch wyll ynne youth
Strana 91 - 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...
Strana 167 - But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds and led the way.
Strana 166 - His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain...
Strana 89 - 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.
Strana 89 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Strana 166 - A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Strana 83 - That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Strana 164 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.