A Collection of the Most Esteemed Pieces of Poetry, that Have Appeared for Several Years

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Richardson and Urquhart, 1770 - 316 pages

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Page 49 - URN, gentle hermit of the dale, A « And guide my lonely way ' To where yon taper cheers the vale ' With hofpitable ray. * For here, forlorn and loft I tread, * With fainting fteps and flow ; ' Where wilds immeafurably fpread, ' Seem lengthening as I go.' ' Forbear, my fon,' the hermit cries,
Page 53 - Edwin here, * Reftor'd to love and thee. * Thus let me hold thee to my heart, * And ev'ry care refign ; ■ And mail we never, never part, « My life,—my all that's mine. * No, never, from this hour to part, * We'll live and love fo true ; * The figh that rends thy conftant heart, * Shall break thy Edwin's too.*
Page 51 - taught to ftray j * Who feeks for reft, but finds defpair ' Companion of her way. • My father liv'd befide the Tyne, ' A wealthy lord was he; ' And all his wealth was mark'd as mine ; ' He had but only me. ' To win me from his tender arms
Page 30 - lyre afide ? As in that lov'd Athenian bower, You learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic foul, O nymph endear'd ! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native fimple heart* Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? Arife, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chafte, fublime! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy recording
Page 28 - took, And blew a blaft fo loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe. And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And tho' fometimes, each dreary paufe between,
Page 88 - Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know, Which, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe, But, turning, trembles too. Far as diftrefs the foul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree; 'Tis blifs but to a certain bound; Beyond is -agony.
Page 16 - direfts their way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. " Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, " When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way !" At that dead hour the filent afp fhall creep, If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep : Or
Page 52 - In humble fimpleft habit clad, • No wealth nor power had he; ' Wifdom and worth were all he had, , * But thefe were all to me. ' The bloflbm opening to the day, ' The dews of heaven refin'd, * Could nought of purity difplay ' To emulate his mind, * The dew, the bloflbm on the tree,
Page 71 - IX. Why did you promife love to me, And not that promife keep ?Why did you fwear my eyes were bright, Yet leave thofe eyes to weep ? X. How could you fay my face was fair, And yet that face forfake ? How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break ? XI. Why did you fay, my lip
Page 80 - Do ufe to chant it. It is filly Sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Shakesp. Twelfth Night. I. FAR in the windings of a vale,

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