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Academus Anacreon Aristippus beauteous beauty bird bless'd bliss bloom boast bosom breast breath call'd calm Catullus celestial charms crowd darkness reigns dear death dream e'en e'er EPISTLE face fair faithful faithless fame Fancy fate favourite fear flowers folly fools friendship glow gold grace grief grove happy harmonious heart Heaven Hence hour Hymen JOHN GILBERT COOPER join'd life's Lord lyre mind monarch moral Muse NATHANIEL COTTON nature Nature's ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er pain pale parrot pass'd passion plain Plato pleasure poet poison'd pride prize pursue rapture reigns rise rose sacred sage scenes shade shine shore sighs sight silent skies smiling soft song sorrows soul spleen sportive sweet tears tempest thee thou thought thousand throne Thurgarton tongue truth twas Ver-Vert Virtue wealth whence Whilst wings wisdom wise wretch youth zephyrs
Seite 263 - We'll form their minds, with studious care, To all that's manly, good, and fair, And train them for the skies.
Seite 263 - Our portion is not large, indeed ; But then how little do we need ! For Nature's calls are few : In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice, And make that little do.
Seite 267 - To-morrow! It is a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary registers of Time, Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society With those who own it.
Seite 262 - Tho' singularity and pride Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, Nor join the giddy dance. From the gay world, we'll oft retire To our own family and fire, Where love our hours employs ; No noisy neighbour enters here. No intermeddling stranger near, To spoil our heart-felt joys. If solid happiness...
Seite 127 - Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep.
Seite 263 - Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours, By sweet experience know That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below!
Seite 192 - I'm estrang'd to guile. Ah me ! my faithful lips impart The genuine language of my heart! When bards extol their patrons high, Perhaps 'tis gold extorts the lie ; Perhaps the poor reward of bread — But who burns incense to the dead?
Seite 155 - Few fear obliquity of mind. Why not adorn the better part? This is a nobler theme for art. For what is form, or what is face, But the soul's index, or its case?