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Page 68 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 10 - When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me : Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me : and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
Page 156 - Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear, That mourns thy exit from a world like this ; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progress to the seats of bliss • No more confined to grov'ling scenes of night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay, Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.
Page 85 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty, prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Page 75 - Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty, in both the last. The force of Nature could no farther go ; To make a third she joined the former two.
Page 69 - His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
Page 115 - Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid ; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires ; The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Page 68 - 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. To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing : When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.