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Seite 233 - But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wandering spent and care ; Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the world my own.
Seite 108 - With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Seite 88 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle. To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die ! Now too — the joy most like divine Of all I ever dreamt or knew.
Seite 217 - O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, 110 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Seite 8 - One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting...
Seite 64 - O YE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend ! Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ; The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; " For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.
Seite 32 - Till then let slumber close thy careful eyes : The wakeful mariners shall watch the skies, And seize the moment when the breezes rise. Then gently waft thee to the pleasing shore, Where thy soul rests, and labour is no more.
Seite 180 - Though thou art woman, frail as fair, If once thy sliding foot should stray, Once quit yon heav'n-appointed way, For thee, lost maid, for thee alone, Nor pray'rs shall plead, nor tears atone ; Reproach, scorn, infamy, and hate, On thy returning steps shall wait ; Thy form be loath'd by ev'ry eye, And ev'ry foot thy presence fly.