The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray: With the Life of the AuthorR. Chapman, 1798 - 83 pages |
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alſo Bard beauties beneath blushing boſom breast breath charms cloſe courſe death defire Delia deſigned diſdain eaſe eaſy effeminacy ELEGY ETON COLLEGE ev'ry eyes facred fame fecret figh filent fing finiſhed firſt fleep flow'rs folemn fome fong foothe forrow foul fublime glitt'ring golden grace Gray hand heart Heav'n Henry VI houſe inſpire King leſs loft Lord Lord Bute loſe lover lyre maid Margaret of Anjou mind moſt Muſe muſt ne'er numbers o'er obſerved ODIN paffion pain Petrarch Pindar pleaſe pleaſure Poet pow'r pride progreſs publiſhed raiſe reafon reft repoſe reſt ſay ſcenes ſcorn ſee ſeems ſeen ſhade ſhall ſhe ſhining ſhould ſky ſlumber ſmile ſoft ſome ſpare ſpirit ſpread ſpring ſtands ſtanzas ſtate ſtep ſtill ſtrains ſtream ſtrong ſtudy ſuch ſweet tear thee theſe THOMAS GRAY thoſe thou thro verſe weep Weft whoſe wiſh youth
Popular passages
Page 81 - Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
Page 43 - This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Page 49 - 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 80 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th...
Page 78 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th
Page 53 - Raised 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 sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Page 36 - Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah ! why should they know their fate ? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more ; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Page 6 - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear And weep the more because I weep in vain.
Page 19 - ... always to mean more than he said. Would you have any more reasons? An interval of above forty years has pretty well destroyed the charm.
Page 45 - 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.