The Works of the English Poets: ShenstoneH. Hughs, 1779 |
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bard beauty beneath bleft blifs bloom bofom bower breaſt charms chearful crown'd Damon dear defire Delia diftant diſplay ELEGY ev'n facred fair falute fame fancy fate fcenes fcorn fecure feem feen fenfe fhade fhall fhepherd fhore fhun figh fing flame flowers fmiles focial foft fome fond fong fons foon foothe foul friendſhip ftill ftream fuch fure fwain fweet fwell gentle grace grove inſpire laſt lefs lov'd lyre maid mind moffy mournful Mufe muft Muſe muſt Naiad native ne'er nymph o'er paffion peace penfive plain pleafing pleas'd pleaſe pleaſure praiſe pride raiſe reafon reign rife rills rofe roſe rural ſcenes ſhade ſhall ſhare ſhe ſhine ſhore ſhould ſkies ſky ſmile ſpring ſtore ſtray ſweets taſte tear thee thefe theſe thine thofe thoſe thou toils train Twas vale virtue whofe whoſe WILLIAM SHENSTONE youth
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281 ページ - And work the simple vassals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, But their limbs...
158 ページ - Alas ! from the day that we met What hope of an end to my woes ? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain : The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.
284 ページ - And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's '.• wound; And marj'ram sweet, in shepherd's posie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare , perfume.
151 ページ - I fed on the smiles of my dear ? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas ! where with her I have stray'd I could wander with pleasure, alone.
154 ページ - I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due to a dove, That it ever attended the bold ; And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks, I should love her the more.
156 ページ - Tis his with mock passion to glow, Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, " How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labour the strain, With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain, Repine at her triumphs, and die.
153 ページ - I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed...
287 ページ - She sees no kind domestic visage near, And soon a flood of tears begins to flow And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. But ah ! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his disguised face ? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous shower that does his cheek distain...
282 ページ - Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield : Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the hare-bell that adorns the field : And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield Tway birchen sprays...
152 ページ - But a sweet-brier entwines it around, Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.