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A N O D ARIC beneath bluſh breaſt buſy cloſe Counteſs dauntleſs death Deſpair diſdain diſtant dreſt Duke of Grafton Earl Edward Eirin Eliſabeth ETON COLLEGE eyes fate firſt glitt’ring Hark haſty Hauberk heart Heav'n Henry the Sixth himſelf Hiſtory iſland King laſt Lord loves lyre majeſtic Margaret of Anjou Milton moſt Muſe O D E º º o'er Odin P H E T paſſed paſſions Petrarch Pindar pleaſing pleaſure progreſs Propheteſs PROSPECT OF ETON purſues repoſe reſt riſing Roſe ſable ſad ſaw ſay ſecret ſee ſeemed ſeen ſend ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhore ſleep ſmile ſº ſoft ſolemn ſome ſon ſong ſorrow ſoul ſound ſpeed ſpirit ſpread ſpring ſtate ſteep ſteps ſtill ſtrains ſtream ſtrong ſtudy ſtyle ſuch ſun ſweet T H E taſte tear thee theſe thoſe thou thro vale voice Weave weep Welſh whoſe youth
Seite 131 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Seite 42 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of joy ; Of horror that...
Seite 130 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Seite 128 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...
Seite 121 - THE CURFEW tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Seite 123 - Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Seite 36 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Seite 136 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Seite 55 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 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...