The Works of the English Poets: Dyer and Mallet

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H. Hughs, 1779

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Page 4 - But transient is the smile of Fate ! A little rule, a little sway, A sunbeam in a winter's day, Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave.
Page 6 - I lie ; While the wanton Zephyr sings. And in the vale perfumes his wings ; While the waters murmur deep ; While the shepherd charms his sheep; While the birds unbounded fly, And with music fill the sky, Now, ev'n now. my joys run high.
Page 2 - Wide and wider spreads the vale, As circles on a smooth canal ; The mountains round, unhappy fate! Sooner or later, of all height, Withdraw their summits from the skies...
Page 7 - Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds, O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote ; beyond The vale of Arno purpled with the vine, Beyond the Umbrian and Etruscan hills, To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste, Where yellow Tiber his neglected wave Mournfully rolls.
Page 1 - Silent nymph, with curious eye, Who, the purple evening, lie On the mountain's lonely van, Beyond the noise of busy man ; Painting fair the form of things, While the yellow linnet sings ; Or the tuneful nightingale Charms the forest with her tale...
Page 5 - Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view! The fountain's fall, the river's flow, The woody valleys warm and low; The windy summit, wild and high, Roughly rushing on the sky; The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, The naked rock, the shady bower; The town and village, dome and farm, Each give each a double charm, As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
Page 12 - Th' enormous amphitheatre behold — Mountainous pile ! o'er whose capacious womb Pours the broad firmament its varied light ; While from the central floor the seats ascend...
Page 151 - That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And every charm is fled. The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear.
Page 3 - And ancient towers crown his brow, That cast an awful look below ; Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, And with her arms from falling keeps : So both a safety from the wind On mutual dependence find. 'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ; Tis now th...
Page 3 - Gaudy as the opening dawn, Lies a long and level lawn, On which a dark hill, steep and high, Holds and charms the wandering eye! Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, His sides are cloth'd with waving wood...

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