So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return. A Pastoral. Parti I have found out a gift for my fair; Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Ibid. Part ii. Hope Jemmy Dawson. The Schoolmistress. Stanza 6. Pun-provoking thyme. Stanza 11. A little bench of heedless bishops here, Stanza 28. JOHN BROWN. 1715-1766. Now let us thank the Eternal Power: convinced Barbarossa. Act v. Sc. 3. And coxcombs vanquish Berkeley by a grin. An Essay on Satire, occasioned by the Death of Mr. Pope,1 JAMES TOWNLEY. 1715-1778. Kitty. Shikspur? Shikspur? Who wrote it? No, I never read Shikspur. Lady Bab. Then you have an immense pleasure to High Life below Stairs. Act ii. Sc. 1. come. From humble Port to imperial Tokay. Ibid. 1 ANDERSON: British Poets, vol. x. p. 879. See note in "Contemporary Review," September, 1867, p. 4. THOMAS GRAY. 1716-1771. What female heart can gold despise? What cat's averse to fish? On the death of a Favourite Cat. A fav'rite has no friend! Ye distant spires, ye antique towers. Ibid. On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 1. Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade ! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, blow I feel the gales that from ye Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast. Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, Ah, tell them they are men! And moody madness laughing wild To each his suff'rings; all are men, The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Stanza 2. Stanza 4. Stanza 5. Stanza 6. Ibid. Stanza 8 And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.1 On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 10 Daughter of Jove, relentless power, From Helicon's harmonious springs Hymn to Adversity. The Progress of Poesy. I. 1, Line 3. Glance their many-twinkling feet. 3, Line 11. O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Line 16. Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame. 11. 2, Line 10. Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. III. 1, Line 12. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: He saw; but blasted with excess of light, 2, Line 4. 1 See Davenant, page 217. He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. — Ecclesiastes i. 18. 2 The light of love. - BYRON: Bride of Abydos, canto i. stanza 6. 8 Unconquerable mind. WORDSWORTH: To Toussaint L'Ouverture. 4 See Cowley, page 262. Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, Loose his beard, and hoary hair The Bard. I. 1, Line 1. Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.1 To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes; Weave the warp, 8 2, Line 5. Line 14. 3, Line 12. II. 1, Line 1. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows; Youth prow, Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, and Pleasure at the helm; Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. The still small voice of gratitude. 2, Line 9. 3, Line 11. III. 1, Line 11. 3, Line 3. Ode for Music. Line 2. Ibid. Chorus. Line 3. Ibid. V. Line 8. 1 See Cowley, page 261. Milton, page 224. Iron sleet of arrowy shower The Fatal Sisters. Line 3. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 1. Each in his narrow cell forever laid, Stanza 4. Stanza 5. Stanza 8. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Stanza 9. Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Stanza 10. Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? Stanza 11. Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Stanza 12. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;' Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, Stanza 13 1 The first edition reads, — "The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea." See Sir Thomas Browne, page 217. |