The poetical works of mr. William Collins

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第 101 頁 - To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove: But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love.
第 81 頁 - When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell...
第 68 頁 - O'erhang his wavy bed, Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn...
第 48 頁 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
第 102 頁 - No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew; The redbreast oft, at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.
第 83 頁 - twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail...
第 82 頁 - tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound...
第 87 頁 - But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best.
第 104 頁 - IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave ! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, To deck its poet's sylvan grave ! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp ' shall now be laid ; That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds May love through life the soothing shade.
第 87 頁 - Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound : And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music ! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, Why, Goddess! why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside...

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