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appear authority beauty beneath Born breaſt breath BROWN charms dear death dyed Epigrams ev'ry eyes face fair fall fame fate fear fire firſt flow foul gentle give green grief grove hand head hear heart heav'n honour hour King lady land laws leave light live look lord maid mind moſt mournful Muſe muſt Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſing pleaſure Poems poet poor pow'r praiſe pride riſe round ſame ſcenes ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſome ſong ſoul ſpread ſpring ſtate ſtill ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe thine things thoſe thou thought thro train true truth turn vain Verſe virtue wealth whoſe wild wretch wyll ynne youth
Стр. 79 - 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...
Стр. 155 - But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds and led the way.
Стр. 154 - His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain...
Стр. 77 - 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.
Стр. 77 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Стр. 154 - A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Стр. 71 - That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Стр. 152 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.