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appears arms bear beauty beneath breaſt breath charms court crowd death delight divine earth face fair fame fancy fate fear field fire firſt flow fome Fortune foul genius give glory grace grove hand happy head hear heart heaven honour hope hour human kind king known land laſt laws leave light live look Lord mind moſt Muſe muſt Nature never night o'er once pain peace plain pleaſure praiſe pride purſue reign riſe Rome round ſay ſcene ſee ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhould ſmile ſoft ſome ſoul ſprings ſtate ſteps ſtill ſtream ſuch ſweet tell thee theſe things thoſe thou thought toil train true truth vain virtue voice wave whoſe wings wiſe young youth
Page 341 - 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.
Page 325 - 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.
Page 337 - Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air And, with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Page 333 - Though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air...
Page 342 - Fond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Rais'd 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 scept'red Care ; To triumph and to die are mine.
Page 7 - The ruins, with a silent tear revolves The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid The rural powers confess ; and still prepare For you their choicest treasures.
Page 326 - Man's feeble race what ills await ! . Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove.
Page 324 - The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres...
Page 334 - Thro' the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : 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. THE BARD. A Pindaric Ode. I. i. seize thee, ruthless King ! Confusion on thy banners wait ; Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.