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arms beauty beneath birds Book bright cause charge charms close dear death delight distant divine door dream earth ease fair fall fear feel field fire force give grace half hand happy hast head hear heard heart Heaven hope human kind king knew knows land leaves length less light live looks Lord lost mind move nature never night nose o'er once pain pass peace perhaps play pleasure poet poor praise rest scene seems seen shade shine short side sight smile song soon soul sound spirit spring stands sweet takes Task tear tell thee theme thine things thou thought thousand touch true truth verse wind winter wish worth youth
Page 26 - Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world ; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on th
Page 131 - Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the playplace of our early days ; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
Page 233 - THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Page 82 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.
Page 220 - His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. — Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main: But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.
Page 81 - OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war Might never reach me more...
Page 133 - How soft the music of those village bells Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet ! now dying all away, Now pealing loud again and louder still, Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on.
Page 169 - Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, The wine is left behind ! Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise.