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appear bard beauty beneath bliſs bloom boaſt bower breaſt breath bright bring charms Damon dear Delia's delight diſplay doubt face fair fame fancy fate fields figh fire flame flow flowers fond fortune gentle give glow gold grace green grove hand hear heard heart hill hope hour kind lov'd maid mind mournful Muſe muſt native nature ne'er never nymph o'er once pain paint paths peace plain pleaſe pleaſure praiſe pride race riſe roſe round rural ſaw ſcenes ſcorn ſee ſeen ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſong ſoul ſtrain ſtream ſuch ſure ſwain ſweet tear tender thee theſe thine thoſe thou toils tree tuneful Twas vain vale virtue voice whoſe wild wind youth
Страница 233 - Twas her own country bred the flock so fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare...
Страница 130 - Alas ! from the day that we met What hope of an end to my woes ? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain : The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
Страница 125 - Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green. But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
Страница 237 - But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
Страница 123 - I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone.
Страница 123 - I priz'd every hour that went by, Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I sigh ; And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.
Страница 68 - Th'. habitual fcene of hill and dale, The rural herds, the vernal gale, The tangled vetch's purple bloom, The fragrance of the bean's perfume, Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil, And drink the cup of thirft, and eat the bread of toil But foon the pageant fades away ! 'Tis nature only bears perpetual fway.
Страница 94 - Each wayward paffion foon would tear His bofom, now fo void of care ; And, when they left his ebbing vein, What, but...
Страница 242 - And must be bought, though penury betide. The plumb all azure and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names th* inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known.