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arms beneath blessed bosom breast breath bright child cold cried dark dead dear death deep dread dream earth eternal face fair fall father fear feel field fire flowers give glory grave hand hast hath head hear heard heart Heaven hope hour knew land leave light live look Lord lost meet mind morn mother Nature never night o'er once passed poor praise pride rest rise rose round scene seemed seen shade shore sigh silent sleep smile sorrow soul sound spirit stood stream sweet tears tell thee thine thing thou thought thousand trembling truth turned Twas voice wandering waves weep wild wind wings wish young youth
Стр. 285 - When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honourable man.
Стр. 276 - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee...
Стр. 296 - No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
Стр. 64 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Стр. 287 - I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood...
Стр. 65 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Стр. 285 - But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
Стр. 240 - Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Silence how dead! and darkness how profound! Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds ; Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
Стр. 240 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they?
Стр. 159 - And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped — What waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.