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Charm'd into Love, of what eclips'd their Fame! They mak'd Apollo, with her pow'rful Name. See! God of Grecian Wit! Urania cries, How sweet a Muse, the Western World supplies! Say, shou'd she ask some Favour, from your throne, What could you bid her take, that's not her own? Sparkling in Charms, the heav'nly Stranger view So grac'd! she scarce can owe a Beam to You!
That one born in the Revolution should think differently from the men of the present day, in a hundred things, is to be expected. It is in just this difference of opinion, that the lessons of the book are to be found. "And I my joy of life is fled, My spirit's power, my bosom's glow; The raven locks that grac'd my head, Wave in a wreath of snow!
these things also men pray the gods to furnish them, as being plainly neither useless to them nor indifferent, but advantageous to happiness. What the goods are men aim at, and through which they are called happy, he declares in many places. Blessed are thy parents in a son so grac'd, In face and presence, and of mind so wise.
Here difficult it is to catch A sight of either bolt or latch; The porter's place here none will fill; Her largess shall be lavish'd still, And ne'er shall thirst or hunger rude In Sycharth venture to intrude. A noble leader, Cambria's knight, The lake possesses, his by right, And midst that azure water plac'd, The castle, by each pleasure grac'd.
The gentlest hart that grac'd the plain; With breath of bugles sound his knell, Then lay him low in Death's drear dell! Nor beauteous form, nor dappled hide, Nor branchy head will long abide; Nor fleetest foot that scuds the heath, Can 'scape the fleeter huntsman, Death.
On that auspicious night, supremely grac'd With chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste, Not in contentious heat, nor madd'ning strife, Not with the busy ills, nor cares of life, We'll waste the fleeting hours far happier themes Shall claim each thought and chase ambition's dreams. Each beauty that sublimity can boast He best shall tell, who still unites them most.
The King of Rivers, solemn calm and slow, Flows tow'rd the Sea yet fierce is seen to flow, On each fan Bank, the verdant Lands are seen, In gayest Cloathing of perpetual Green On ev'ry Side, the Prospect brings to Sight The Fields, the Flow'rs, and ev'ry fresh Delight His lovely Banks, most beauteously are grac'd With Nature's sweet variety of Taste Herbs, Fruits and Grass, with intermingled Trees The Prospect lengthen, and the Joys increase The lofty Mountains rise to ev'ry View, Creation's Glory, and its Beauty too.
"The throng that mourn'd, as their dead favorite pass'd, The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last; While Shakspeare's image, from its hallow'd base, Seem'd to prescribe the grave and point the place."
The hart is slain! his faithful deer, In spite of hounds or huntsman near, Despising Death, and all his train, Laments her hart untimely slain! The chase is o'er, the hart is slain! The gentlest hart that grac'd the plain; Blow soft your bugles, sound his knell, Then lay him low in Death's drear dell! The English Pastoral Drama
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