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anguifh behold beneath besore blast bless blest blifs bloom bosom bow'r breast breath BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY CHARLOTTE SMITH charms cheek cold cry'd dark dead dear death despair doom'd dost dy'd E'en e'er ev'ry eyes facred faid fair fame fate fleep flow flow'r fond forlorn foul gloom grave gries hand hast hear heart Heav'n hour insant kifs lest lise lise's lov'd maid mem'ry mind morn mournsul native ne'er night nymph o'er Osric pain pale pangs peace peacesul PINDAR pity plain poor pow'r pray'r pride rest round Sally Green scel scene sear seel seet shade sield siends sigh silent sire sirst smile soft soon sorrow soul suture swain sweet tear tempest tender thee thine thou toil tomb trembling Twas vale virtue waves weeping wild William Penn winds wretch Ye bands youth
Страница 52 - 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.
Страница 8 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Страница 49 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Страница 8 - Though, in regard to number, not exact; It was not two black crows — 'twas only one; The truth of that you may depend upon; The gentleman himself told me the case." "Where may I find him?" "Why, in such a place." Away goes he, and, having found him out, "Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.
Страница 50 - 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 th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Страница 63 - How lov'd , how honour'd once , avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Страница 49 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Страница 62 - What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show?
Страница 8 - Why did all-creating Nature Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards ; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.