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ariſe Arun Bart Biſhop blaſt bleſt boſom Bowdler breaſt CHARLotte SMITH charms Counteſs deſpair diſtant dreſs Ducheſs Duer Dyſon Earl Eſq eyes fade fair figh firſt flowers Friendſhip's fruitleſs George happineſs Hayley heart Henry hopeleſs John John Fuller Lady laſt LINE liſten Lord loſt Miſs Miſs F moſt mournful Muſe Nymph o'er Otway pain paſſion paſt penſive Petrarch Pity’s pleaſure praiſe preſent Reaſon reſt Richard riſe River Arun roſe S O N N E T ſacred ſad ſame ſcene ſea ſee ſeek ſenſe ſhades ſhall ſhe ſhepherd ſhore ſhould ſmile Smith ſoft ſome ſometimes ſon ſong ſoothe ſorrow Sorrows of Werter ſoul ſpirit ſportive ſpot ſtill ſtorm ſtrain ſtream ſuch ſure Suſſex ſweet ſwell taſte tears thee theſe thine Thomas thoſe thou Thro tomb truſt viſion waves whoſe wild William WILLIAM HAYLEY wind wiſhes woes Wolume Second
Seite 2 - THE garlands fade that Spring so lately wove, Each simple flower, which she had nursed in dew, Anemonies, that spangled every grove, The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue. No more shall violets linger in the dell, Or purple orchis variegate the plain, Till Spring again shall call forth every bell, And dress with humid hands her wreaths again. Ah, poor humanity! so frail, so fair Are the fond visions of thy early day, Till tyrant passion and corrosive care, Bid all thy fairy colours fade away...
Seite 27 - O happy age ! when Hope's unclouded ray Lights their green path, and prompts their simple mirth; Ere yet they feel the thorns that lurking lay To wound the wretched pilgrims of the earth, Making them rue the hour that gave them birth And threw them on a world so full of pain, Where prosperous folly treads on patient worth, And to deaf pride misfortune pleads in vain ! Ah! for their future fate how many fears Oppress my heart and fill mine eyes with tears ! CHARLOTTE SMITH : Happiness of Childhood.
Seite 4 - QUEEN of the silver bow ! — by thy pale beam, Alone and pensive, I delight to stray, And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream, Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way. And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast; And oft I think — fair planet of the night, That in thy orb, the wretched may have rest...
Seite 5 - For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain, And teach a breaking heart to throb no more? And you, Aruna! — in the vale below, As to the sea your limpid waves you bear Can you one kind Lethean cup bestow, To drink a long oblivion to my care? Ah! no! — when all, e'en Hope's last ray is gone, There's no oblivion — but in death alone!
Seite 5 - your turf, your flowers among,' I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild, And woke your echoes with my artless song. Ah! hills beloved!
Seite 44 - But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides. The wild blast, rising from the Western cave, Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed; Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,* And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave! With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave; But vain to them the winds and waters rave; They hear the warring elements no more; While I am doom'd — by life's long storm opprest, To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.
Seite 36 - But darker now grows life's unhappy day, Dark with new clouds of evil yet to come, Her pencil sickening Fancy throws away, And weary Hope reclines upon the tomb; And points my wishes to that tranquil shore, Where the pale spectre Care pursues no more, WILLIAM ROSCOE.
Seite 5 - Ah! hills beloved! — your turf, your flowers remain; But can they peace to this sad breast restore, For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain, And teach a breaking heart to throb no more? And you, Aruna! — in the vale below, As to the...
Seite 2 - Ah, poor humanity ! so frail, so fair, Are the fond visions of thy early day, Till tyrant passion, and corrosive care, Bid all thy fairy colours fade away ! Another May new buds and flowers shall bring ; Ah ! why has happiness — no second Spring?
Seite 27 - O happy age ! when hope's unclouded ray , Lights their green path, and prompts their simple mirth, Ere yet they feel the thorns that lurking lay* To wound the wretched pilgrims of the earth, Making them rue the hour that gave them birth, And threw them on a world so full of pain. Where prosperous folly treads on patient worth, And to deaf pride, misfortune pleads in vain ! Ah ! — for their future fate how many fears Oppress my heart and fill mine eyes with tears.