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beauty beneath bids bird blooming groves boast breast breath call'd catch a fire charms dear delight design'd divine dream earth ease eyes fair fame fancy fear feel flowers folly form'd frown fruit give glory grace hand happy hast hear heart heaven honour hope labour land light live Lord lost lyre mercy midnight oil mind Muse nature Nebaioth never nymph o'er once pain peace PINE APPLE pleasure poet praise prayer press'd prize prove rest rude scene scenes as fair scorn seek seem'd shine sighs sight silent silent tongue skies smile song soon sorrow soul sound spleen stream sweet taste thee theme thine thou art thought thousand toil truth Twas ultrà vex'd VINCENT BOURNE virtue voice waste WILLIAM COWPER wind wisdom wise wonder worth YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY youth
Página 109 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Página 42 - I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place.
Página 101 - So shall my walk be close with God, Calm and serene my frame ; So purer light shall mark the road That leads me to the Lamb.
Página 52 - Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free, They touch our country and their shackles fall.
Página 133 - That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth : But higher far my proud pretensions rise ; The son of parents passed into the skies.
Página 139 - Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Página 42 - Ye winds that have made me your sport. Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more : My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.
Página 108 - The hand that gave it, still supplies The gracious light and heat ; His truths upon the nations rise, They rise, but never set. 4 Let everlasting thanks be thine, For such a bright display, As makes a world of darkness shine With beams of heavenly day.
Página 133 - Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile) ; Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?