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Sida 100 - They are sped ; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up and are not fed, But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Dayly devours apace, and
Sida 486 - of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen, Round many western islands have I been, Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold ; Oft of one wide expanse have I been told, That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet
Sida 337 - to trace The parlor splendors of that festive place ; The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. The pictures, placed
Sida 108 - veil'd. Yet, not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit : nor
Sida 493 - bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ! That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim ; " Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret, Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; Where palsy shakes a few, sad,
Sida 529 - were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, alar ; While burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the eternal are.'
Sida 101 - bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower : The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground ; and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power To save th
Sida 323 - ah, pleasing shade ! Ah, fields beloved in vain ! Where once my careless childhood strayed," A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow." The third is again from the Elegy : " Beneath those rugged elms, that
Sida 393 - justified by honor : Not for to hide it in a hedge, Nor for a train attendant, But for the glorious privilege Of being independent. " The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order, But where ye feel your honor grip, Let that aye be your border: Its slightest touches, instant