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Página 204 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Página 204 - Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed oak.
Página 97 - Happy the man - and happy he alone He who can call today his own, He who, secure within, can say 'Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of Fate are mine: Not Heaven itself upon the Past has power, But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.
Página 243 - Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, The source of evil one, and one of good ; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, Blessings to these, to those distributes ills; To most, he mingles both : the wretch decreed To taste the bad, unmix'd, is cursed indeed; Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.
Página 191 - Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey ; Over rocks that are steepest Love will find out the way.
Página 298 - TIS late and cold; stir up the fire; -*- Sit close, and draw the table nigher; Be merry, and drink wine that's old, A hearty medicine 'gainst a cold : Your beds of wanton down the best, Where you shall tumble to your rest; I could wish you wenches too, But I am dead, and cannot do. Call for the best the house may ring, Sack, white, and claret, let them bring, And drink apace, while breath you have; You'll find but...
Página 124 - We wandered hand in hand together ; But that was sixty years ago. You grew a lovely roseate maiden, And still our early love was strong ; Still with no care our days were laden, They glided joyously along ; And I did love you very dearly, How dearly words want power to show ; I thought your heart was touched as nearly ; But that was fifty years ago. Then other lovers came around you, Your beauty grew from year to year. And many a splendid circle found you The centre of its glittering sphere.
Página 23 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear...
Página 134 - A man so various, that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts, and nothing long; But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.