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admire Alcanor applaud Author bard bears beauty behold blood blossom brow calls charms cheek cheerful clouded comes dance death deeds delight early ev'ry fair fall fear feel field flow'r follow fool frequent genius give golden grace grave half hand happy head hear heard heart heav'n honour hope hour human labour laugh leave less light live look lost loud maid mark mind morning mortal muse nature never night once pains pass poet praise round scarce seen sense shed sing sisters sleep smile song soon soul sound spring stands stray sweet tell thee thine thou thought till toil tread turn Twas vale vice VILLAGE virtue walk winds wing wins Winter wood worth ye fair
Page 134 - But let concealment like a worm i' th' bud Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at grief.
Page 69 - To view the structure of this little work, A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without. No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join; his little beak was all. And yet how neatly finish'd ! What nice hand, With ev'ry implement and means of art, And twenty years apprenticeship to boot, Could make me such another?
Page xxii - Shakspeare, occasioned by reading Mr Malone's Essay on the Chronological Order of those celebrated Pieces.
Page 44 - s destructive to the hue Of every flower that blows. Go to the field, And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps Soon as the sun departs : Why close the eyes Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon Her oriental veil puts off?
Page 64 - To fell the glory of the barren waste ! For what more noble than the vernal furze With golden baskets hung ? Approach it not, For ev'ry blossom has a troop of swords Drawn to defend it.
Page 66 - But mark with how peculiar grace yon wood, That clothes the weary steep, waves in the breeze Her sea of leaves ; thither we turn our steps, And by the way attend the cheerful sound Of woodland harmony, that always fills The merry vale between.
Page 45 - Oh ! there is a charm That morning has, that gives the brow of age A smack of youth, and makes the lip of youth Breathe per'fumes exquisite. Expect it not, Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie, Indulging feverish sleep ; or wakeful, dream Of happiness no mortal heart has felt, But in the regions of romance'.
Page 67 - Her solo anthem sung, and all who heard Content, joins in the chorus of the day. She, gentle heart, thinks it no pain to please, Nor, like the moody songsters of the world, Displays her talent, pleases, takes affront, And locks it up in envy.
Page 44 - Compell'd to taste the rank and pois'nous steam Of midnight theatre, and morning ball. Give to repose the solemn hour she claims, And from the forehead of the morning steal The sweet occasion.
Page 79 - I steal along the woody lane, To hear thy song so various, gentle bird, Sweet queen of night, transporting Philomel. I name thee not to give my feeble line A grace else wanted, for I love thy song, And often have I stood to hear it sung, When the clear moon, -with Cytherean smile Emerging from an eastern cloud, has shot A look of pure benevolence and joy Into the heart of night. Yes, I have stood And mark'd thy varied note, and frequent pause, Thy brisk and melancholy mood, with soul Sincerely pleas'd.