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Page 3 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar; Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown...
Page 7 - Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven...
Page 118 - Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a Hermit began ; No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a Sage, though he felt as a Man.
Page 22 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side : The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Page 13 - And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime, Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast, And view th...
Page 16 - And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed ? Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.
Page 42 - Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, And woo the weary to profound repose ! Can Passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, And whisper comfort to the man of woes ! Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
Page 11 - Silent when glad ; affectionate, though shy ; And now his look was most demurely sad ; And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why. The neighbours star'd and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad : Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.
Page 45 - Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.