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Amyntor arms awful bards beauty behold beneath blest bliss bloom bosom breast breath charms court delight divine dread Earth Envy etermal ev'ry fair fame Fancy fate fear fire flame flowing tear fond genius glory grace Greece grove hand happy hath heart Heaven Hesiod honour horrour hour Hymen king lord lord Lyttelton lyre maid mind Muse Muse's Naiads Nature Nature's night numbers nymph o'er once pain passion Petrarch Pindar pleas'd pleasure poem pomp pow'r praise pride proud rage rais'd rapture rill rise round sacred scene Scorm scorn sense shade shame shine shore sigh smile soft song soul stream sublime sweet taste tears tell tender terrour thee thine things thou thought throne toil tongue truth TUNBRIDGE Twas vale vex'd virtue voice wild wing wretched youth
Página 148 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Página 151 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm : Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey.
Página 146 - The vultures of the mind, Disdainful anger, pallid fear, And shame that skulks behind ; Or pining love shall waste their youth, Or jealousy with rankling tooth That inly gnaws the secret heart, And envy wan, and faded care, Grim-visaged comfortless despair, And sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high To bitter scorn a sacrifice And grinning infamy. The stings of falsehood those shall try, And hard unkindness
Página 149 - Man's feeble race what Ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
Página 151 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Página 146 - Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green The paths of pleasure trace; Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?
Página 148 - Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Página 147 - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike the' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Página 145 - But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest, Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive, kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? A solitary fly ! Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display : On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — We frolic, while 'tis May.