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appears arms awful beauty bloom breaſt breath bright bring cares cauſe charms dear death deep delight earth eyes face fair faith fall fame fate fear fight fire firſt flame flow flower fond foul gentle give glory glow grace grief grove hand head hear heart heaven Hence hills honour hope hour laſt laws lead leave light lives mind morn Muſe Nature Nature's never night o'er once pain peace plains pleaſure praiſe pride Queen rage reign riſe round ſacred ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſkies ſmiles ſoft ſong ſoul ſpread ſpring ſtate ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tears tell thee theſe thine thoſe thou thought thro throne train trembling truth vain vale virtue voice wealth whoſe wind wing wretch young youth
Side 132 - Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn : Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty Rout is there, Marking with indignant eye Fear to stop, and Shame to fly. There Confusion, Terror's child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death.
Side 245 - To purchase heaven has gold the power ? Can gold remove the mortal hour ? In life can love be bought with gold ? Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ? No— all that's worth a wish — a thought, Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Side 112 - The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, That broke the bonds of Rome. (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human passions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb...
Side 119 - He went, as if the devil drove him. Yet on his way (no sign of grace, For folks in fear are apt to pray) To Phoebus he preferr'd his case, And begg'd his aid that dreadful day.
Side 268 - Bastard, he laments in a very affecting manner : ——No mother's care Shielded my infant innocence with prayer ; No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd, Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd.
Side 119 - Short was his joy. He little knew The power of Magic was no fable ; Out of the window, whisk, they flew, But left a spell upon the table.
Side 123 - Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along. Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong.
Side 129 - Virgins these, in speechless woe, That bend to earth their solemn brow, That their flaxen tresses tear, And snowy veils, that float in air. Tell me whence their sorrows rose: Then I leave thee to repose. PR. Ha! no Traveller art thou, King of Men, I know thee now, Mightiest of a mighty line O.