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Ælla appears armes arrowe awaie ayre BIRTHA bloude Botte brave Canynge cause CELMONDE Charles daie darkness death dethe doth drewe duke dydd eyes eyne falle fate felle fire force fyghte give Godde grace Gray grounde hand Harolde harte head heart Heaven hedde knyghte kynge leave lette light live look lord Lyche lyfe maie manne menne mind mortal myghte nature never Normannes notte nyghte o'er once onne poem poet praise Quod rage rest saie seen sense sent songe soon soul stronge swerde tear thatt thee theie Thenne theyr thie thou thought thro true unto Whatte wounde write wylle wythe XXIX ynne ytte
45. oldal - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
25. oldal - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
46. oldal - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
45. oldal - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
18. oldal - Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breathed around ; Every shade and hallow'd fountain Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
49. oldal - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
13. oldal - That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings : all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, Th
50. oldal - He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.
45. oldal - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
13. oldal - And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe ; By vain Prosperity received To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.