A timid grace sits trembling in her eye, At length, my lord, I have the bliss, At Sarra, in the land of Tartarie, A village is a hive of glass, Awake, my soul, and with the sun,. Awake my St. John, leave all meaner things A word spoken in due season, how good is it. Beauties, have ye seen this toy Before the starry threshold of Jove's court Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever Be Homer's works your study and delight Breathes there the man with soul so dead But how he will come and whither he goes, Cæsar himself could never say 123 Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Can you paint a thought? Captain or Co-lo-nel or Knight at arms! Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, Cheeks as soft as July peaches Down by yon hazel copse, at evening blazed Dread offspring of the holy light within, Earth has not anything to show more fair, Eke Plato sayeth, whoso can him read, Every word that he speaks has been fierily furnaced Falling out of faithful friends. PAGE 258 53 323 2 170 Fancies are but streams of vain pleasure Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness, Farewell happy fields, where joy for ever dwells Farewell! thou child of my right hand, and joy Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Fierce wars and faithful loves shall moralize my song, First when Maggie was my care, Flow gently, sweet Afton-- Fly hence shadows, that do keep Follow pleasure, and then will pleasure flee, Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. For I who hold sage Homer's rule the best For talents mourn untimely lost, For Truth has such a face and such a mien, Fresh clad from Heaven in robes of white, Friend to my life, which did not you prolong From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass Gather ye rosebuds while ye may," Give Cartwright his Parliaments fresh every year Give me a look, give me a face, Give to the winds thy fears Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights, and ease, Glory to thee, my God, this night!. Go, and catch a falling star, God of my life! and Author of my days God prosper long our noble king, Go, little book, thyself present, Gone! they ne'er go! Go when the morning shineth, Go, you may call it madness, folly, . Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye. Had I but served my God with half the zeal Hail, holy Light! offspring of Heaven, firstborn! Hark, hark, the lark! PAGE 34 211 Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Has life so little store of real woes, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea Hear! Land of Cakes, and brother Scots, He best can paint them who can feel them most He hath showed thee, O man, what is good, Hence away, nor dare intrude! He prayeth best who loveth best, Her air, her smile, her motions told Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can Here in the body pent- Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, Here Rogers sat, and here for ever dwell Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee. Her life to lead us up to Heaven was lent us, . 254 Heroes and kings your distance keep 71 373 145 16 342 368 68 49 59 19 278 369 Hope, though slow she be and late, Horace still charms with graceful negligence IIO 144 255 98 Howe'er we gaze with admiration – How happy is he born and taught. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, I am His Highness's dog at Kew I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers. I dare do all that may become a man, I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear If that the world and love were young, If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright I got me flowers to straw thy way; I hate the man who builds his name I have had playmates, I have had companions I have no name, I am but two days old. I hear a voice you cannot hear, heard a thousand blended notes, I live for those who love me, I'll hope no more for things that will not come I may liken learning to a shield I mourn no more my vanished years, PAGE 32 270 41 343 15 295 128 57 126 318 252 123 323 348 72 61 365 145 187 367 241 159 In beauty or wit, In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, In your sweet simple nature of woman I pr'ythee no more, dear importunate friend! I remember when the fight was done, I saw thee weep-the big bright tear— It is an old saying, that few words are best It fell once in a morn of May. It is in vain you do conjure me It is not growing like a tree It is not the tear at this moment shed, It's no in titles nor in rank, It warms me, it charms me, 49 251 26 236 372 220 359 3 77 68 56 271 230 231 Katerfelto with his hair on end Kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire Lament who will, in fruitless tears, Lead kindly Light! amid the encircling gloom, Learn of the little nautilus to sail Leave me, O love, which reachest but to dust, II Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy 269 Let me not to the marriage of true minds, 40 Man goeth to his long home, Man is the nobler growth our realms supply, 243 217 Mark where its simple front yon mansion rears Men must be taught as if you taught them not Mortals that would follow me. 243 144 32 99 Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors 30 240 Music, when soft voices die My conscience is my crown, My days have been so wondrous free, Mysterious night, when our first Parent knew. Nature fits all her children with something to do, Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Nobles and heralds, by your leave, No longer mourn for me when I am dead Nor can the snow which now cold Age does shed, |