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appear bard bleffings bleft blifs breaſt brother character charms dear death defire Doctor eyes face fail fame fear feems feveral fhall fhould figh fire flies fmiling fome fond fons forrow foul ftill ftranger fuch give GOLDSMITH half hand head heart heaven himſelf honour hopes hour humble Italy kind laft land late learning leave lies looks lord luxury manners meet mind nature never night o'er OLIVER once pain perhaps piece plain pleas'd pleaſure poem poet poor praiſe pride PRINTED proud Reynolds rife round ſcene ſhall ſpread tears thee thefe theſe things thofe thoſe thou thought tion toil train turn Twas village wealth whofe write
第 51 頁 - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
第 68 頁 - Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain. These simple blessings of the lowly train ; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art.
第 61 頁 - Where wealth, accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
第 59 頁 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
第 66 頁 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
第 104 頁 - Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind ; His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
第 42 頁 - Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, To make him loathe his vegetable meal : But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.
第 67 頁 - Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired.
第 66 頁 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault...
第 63 頁 - Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work...