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appear arms bear bids bring cauſe charms courſe court dare death deep dreadful earth ev'ry face fail fair fall fame fate fear feel fire firſt foes fools force genius give glory grace grave hand head hear heart heaven hold honour hope hour human juſt keep King land laſt light live look Lord mean mighty mind moſt Muſe muſt Nature Nature's never night o'er once pain peace plain poor pow'r praiſe pride proud rage reaſon riſe round rule ſacred ſcene ſee ſenſe ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſome ſoul ſtand ſtill ſuch tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thought thro throne trembling true truth turn vice virtue voice Whilft whoſe wind youth
Page 207 - 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.
Page 209 - 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.
Page 207 - 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.
Page 209 - 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.
Page 487 - Christian kings, inflam'd by black desire, With honourable ruffians in their hire, Cause war to rage, and blood around to pour : Of this sad work when each begins to tire, They sit them down just where they were before, Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force restore.
Page 207 - Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 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.
Page 487 - Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of special grave remark : A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face, Pensive, not sad ; in thought...
Page 444 - Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death And all the sad variety of pain. How many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man. How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs.
Page 123 - It is their funeral knell ! and gliding near Methinks the phantoms of the dead appear ; But lo ! emerging from the watery grave Again they float incumbent on the wave, Again the dismal prospect opens round, — The wreck, the shore, the dying, and the drown'd...