Poets and statesmen; their homes and haunts in the neighbourhood of Eton and Windsor

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Side 183 - It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision.
Side 39 - And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
Side 38 - And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak...
Side 28 - Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Side 33 - But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended...
Side 36 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
Side 30 - Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks...
Side 183 - Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom...
Side 61 - Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, Happier than the happiest king ! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants belong to thee : All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plough, Farmer he, and landlord thou ! Thou dost innocently enjoy, Nor does thy luxury destroy.
Side 116 - The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made ; Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.

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