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appear arms attend beam beauty Behold beneath bloom bosom bower breast breathe bright brow charms crown death deep delight divine doth dwell earth eyes fair fame fate flame flow flowers fond foul give glow grace green grove hand head hear heart heaven hills hope hour kind kings land leaves light lise live maid mind morn Muse Nature night notes o'er once pain pale peace Pity plain pride rage rich rise round sacred scene shade ſhall shrine side sigh sire smile soft song soon sounds spread Spring stream sweet tear tender thee theſe thine thou thought thro throne tide toil train truth vain vale Virtue voice wake waves wealth whoſe wild winds wing youth
Страница 2 - Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around,! The morn that lights you, to your loves...
Страница 43 - He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.
Страница 35 - The band, as fairy legends say, Was wove on that creating day . When He, who call'd with thought to birth...
Страница 32 - On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait ; Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue ; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice, Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.
Страница 36 - Of rude access, of prospect wild, Where, tangled round the jealous steep, Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep, And holy Genii guard the rock, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, While on its rich ambitious head, An Eden, like his own, lies spread.
Страница 32 - Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare: On whom that ravening brood of Fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait: Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee ? EPODE.
Страница 5 - Ye mute Companions of my Toils, that bear In all my Griefs a more than equal Share!
Страница 18 - With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe, When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his...