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Seite 473 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age, Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But O, sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Seite 169 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Seite 169 - And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears...
Seite 77 - ... violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright...
Seite 168 - Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowrets of a thousand hues.
Seite 471 - Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.
Seite 167 - Here be grapes, whose lusty blood Is the learned poet's good, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them; Deign, oh fairest fair, to take them!
Seite 79 - There, in the stocks of trees, white fays do dwell, And span-long elves that dance about a pool, With each a little changeling in their arms ! The airy spirits play with falling stars, And mount the sphere of fire, to kiss the moon ! While she sits reading by the glow-worm's light, Or rotten wood, o'er which the worm hath crept, The baneful schedule of her nocent charms, And binding characters, through which she wounds Her puppets, the Sigilla of her witchcraft.
Seite 75 - But in the covert of the wood did byde, Beholding all, yet of them unespyde. There' he did see that pleased much his sight, That even he...
Seite 260 - Then as a nimble squirrel from the wood, Ranging the hedges for his filbert-food, Sits pertly on a bough his brown nuts cracking, And from the shell the sweet white kernel taking, Till with their crooks and bags a sort of boys, To share with him, come with so great a noise That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, And for his life leap to a neighbour oak, Thence...