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Стр. 50 - If I am right, thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh teach my heart To find that better way...
Стр. 49 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That more than heaven pursue.
Стр. 57 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Стр. 56 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Стр. 53 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Стр. 60 - Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the Heavens and Earth Rose out of Chaos : or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd Fast by the oracle of God, I thence Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
Стр. 57 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Стр. 56 - Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove. Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
Стр. 56 - On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of th...
Стр. 53 - Oft did the harveft to their fickle yield, Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their fturdy...

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