admire Alcanor applaud Author beauty behold betimes Bishopstone bliss blood blossom blush breeze brow Catharine charms cheek cheerful clouded Cowper cruel dance death deeds delight Divine dram E'en Eliza esteem ev'ry fear feel field flow'r fool fragrance genius give glows golden golden baskets grace grave hand Handel happy harpsichord hear heard heart heav'n honour hour Hurdis Isabel JAMES HURDIS labour laugh leaf live look loud lyre Magdalen College maid mark morning mortal muse nature never night o'er pains perch'd Philomel pious pluck Poem poet poison'd powder'd praise pris'ner reign round scarce scorn shed sing sisters sleep smile sober song soul sound spring stray stray'd studious summer's sung swain thee thine thou thund'ring toil tread Twas vale vex'd VILLAGE CURATE virtue walk William Cowper William Hayley winds wing wins Winter wood ye fair
Page 134 - But let concealment like a worm i' th' bud Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at grief.
Page 69 - To view the structure of this little work, A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without. No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, No glue to join; his little beak was all. And yet how neatly finish'd ! What nice hand, With ev'ry implement and means of art, And twenty years apprenticeship to boot, Could make me such another?
Page xxii - Shakspeare, occasioned by reading Mr Malone's Essay on the Chronological Order of those celebrated Pieces.
Page 44 - s destructive to the hue Of every flower that blows. Go to the field, And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps Soon as the sun departs : Why close the eyes Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon Her oriental veil puts off?
Page 64 - To fell the glory of the barren waste ! For what more noble than the vernal furze With golden baskets hung ? Approach it not, For ev'ry blossom has a troop of swords Drawn to defend it.
Page 66 - But mark with how peculiar grace yon wood, That clothes the weary steep, waves in the breeze Her sea of leaves ; thither we turn our steps, And by the way attend the cheerful sound Of woodland harmony, that always fills The merry vale between.
Page 45 - Oh ! there is a charm That morning has, that gives the brow of age A smack of youth, and makes the lip of youth Breathe per'fumes exquisite. Expect it not, Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie, Indulging feverish sleep ; or wakeful, dream Of happiness no mortal heart has felt, But in the regions of romance'.
Page 67 - Her solo anthem sung, and all who heard Content, joins in the chorus of the day. She, gentle heart, thinks it no pain to please, Nor, like the moody songsters of the world, Displays her talent, pleases, takes affront, And locks it up in envy.
Page 44 - Compell'd to taste the rank and pois'nous steam Of midnight theatre, and morning ball. Give to repose the solemn hour she claims, And from the forehead of the morning steal The sweet occasion.
Page 79 - I steal along the woody lane, To hear thy song so various, gentle bird, Sweet queen of night, transporting Philomel. I name thee not to give my feeble line A grace else wanted, for I love thy song, And often have I stood to hear it sung, When the clear moon, -with Cytherean smile Emerging from an eastern cloud, has shot A look of pure benevolence and joy Into the heart of night. Yes, I have stood And mark'd thy varied note, and frequent pause, Thy brisk and melancholy mood, with soul Sincerely pleas'd.