The Poetical Works of Thomas Gray, English and Latin: Ed. with an Introduction, Life, Notes, and a Bibliography

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G. Bell and sons, 1891 - 319
 

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Strona 227 - Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide.
Strona 44 - Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Strona 47 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Strona lvi - Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, Ah, fields beloved in vain, Where once my careless childhood strayed, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Strona xli - See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again ; The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.
Strona 9 - Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Strona 197 - Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
Strona 194 - Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of eternity.
Strona 70 - Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that...
Strona 24 - Eagle screams, and passes by. 'Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 'Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, 'Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 'Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 'No more I weep. They do not sleep. 'On yonder cliffs, a...

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