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appear arms beauty behold beneath breaſt breath charms cloud court crowd death delight divine earth eaſe face fair fame fate fear field fire firſt genius give glory grace grove hand happy head hear heart heav'n hope hour human kind kings known laſt leave light live look mean mind morn mortal moſt Muſe muſt Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſing pleaſure pow'r praiſe pride purſue reſt riſe round ſacred ſay ſcene ſee ſenſe ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſong ſoul ſtate ſtill ſtrain ſtream ſuch ſweet tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thought toil tongue true truth vain virtue voice wave whoſe wings wiſe youth
Página 385 - Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate ; Beneath the good how far — but far above the great ! ODE VI.
Página 37 - The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying.
Página 389 - Mighty victor, mighty lord ! Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.
Página 388 - With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. II. 1 'Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace...
Página 393 - 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.
Página 381 - Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
Página 384 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Página 389 - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.