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Page 152 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Page 148 - Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp and feast and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry, — Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream.
Page 145 - Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and cranks,* and wanton* wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Page 24 - Refuse his age the needful hours of rest ? Punish a body which he could not please ; Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease ? And all to leave what with his toil he won, To that unfeather'd two-legg'd thing, a son ; Got while his soul did huddled notions try, And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy.
Page 159 - Twould stay, and run again, and stay, For it was nimbler much than hinds; And trod as if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness, And all the springtime of the year It only loved to be there.
Page 166 - So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and, with new spangled ore, Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves.
Page 6 - This is thy province, this thy wondrous way, New humours to invent for each new play: This is that boasted...
Page 5 - Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee, Thou last great prophet of tautology: Even I, a dunce of more renown than they, ^ Was sent before but to prepare thy way: And coarsely clad in Norwich drugget came To teach the nations in thy greater name.
Page 153 - Softly on my eyelids laid; And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.