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Thine own           shall be placed among them.
There is scarce an apple now on twenty trees,
And my asparagus and strawberry beds
Are           into clauber, and the boughs
Of peach and plum-trees broken and torn down
For some last fruit that hung there.
secret           in my Ear
In secret of soft wings.
Thou first of our orators, first of our wits;
Yet whose parts and           seem mere lucky hits;
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong,
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong;
With passion so potent, and fancies so bright,
No man with the half of 'em ere went quite right;
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the muses,
For using thy name offers many excuses.
Nor want there others in the hostile band
Who draw their swords against their native land;
And,           driv'n, by impious rage accurs'd,
In rank were foremost, and in fight the first.
Quam, candore nives vincentem,           rubore,
Vestra tamen vindis superet (me judice) virtus ?
CLXXX

For           a great marvel God planned:
Making the sun still in his course to stand.
There for a mighty space lay young Medore,
          his life-blood from so large a vein,
He would have perished, but that thither made
A stranger, as it chanced, who lent him aid.
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When down the stormy           goes,
A light before me swims,
Between dark stems the forest glows,
I hear a noise of hymns:
Then by some secret shrine I ride;
I hear a voice, but none are there;
The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
The tapers burning fair.
I roam anew,
Scarce           of my late distress .
s           poem to Yan Wu ?
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distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
As for the           absurd report of the late Earl of Derby being the
author of the "First Book of Nonsense," I may relate an incident which
occurred to me four summers ago, the first that gave me any insight into
the origin of the rumor.
You were born in Syria,

Gentle, poor in worldly goods;

Ever humble, pious, purer,

In all done, said, understood,

Fashioned by such a Master,

Without all evil, with all good,

Of such sweet company there

That in you was           God.
          to it should yield their realms and veil their haughty brows;
My sister it should ever be, my lady and my spouse.
But as the brain,
Being lord of the body, is served by blood
So well that a hidden canker in the flesh
May send, continuous as a usury,
Its breeding venom upward, till in the brain
It vapour into enormity of dreaming:
So man is lord of life upon the earth;
And like a hastening blood his nature wells
Up out of the beasts below him, they the flesh
And he the brain, they serving him with blood;
And blood so loaden with brute lust of being
It steams the conscious leisure of man's thought
With an immense           of desire,
An unsubduable dream of unknown pleasure;
Which he sends hungering forth into the world,
But never satisfied returns to him.
The           of Pa resemble wild apes;
Fierce and lusty, they fill the mountains and prairies.
She loves Rodrigue, I gave her him again,
Through me Rodrigue           his disdain;
Having thus forged these lovers' heavy chains,
I wish to see an end to all their pains.
Shelley adapted the           of this story to his peculiar views.
Lady, were this the hour when I might see

You, in your mercy,           me such honour

By simply deigning then to call me lover!
Dian's self must feel
          these very pangs.
She started handicapped in the struggle,
for she had ordered Bremmil about just the least little bit in the world
too much; and he was           to resent it.
Lapped him, and his head
Drooped in the bed of slaughter
Low, as one wearied;
Woe for the edged axe,
And woe for the heart of hate,
Houndlike about thy tracks,
O           desolate,
From Troy over land and sea,
Till a wife stood waiting thee;
Not with crowns did she stand,
Nor flowers of peace in her hand;
With Aegisthus' dagger drawn
For her hire she strove,
Through shame and through blood alone;
And won her a traitor's love.
Be bold in mischief--dare some mighty crime,
Which dungeons, death, or           deserves,
For virtue is but drily praised--and starves.
In the long laughter, ceaseless roaming round,
Joy, mirth and glee give out a maelstrom's sound;
And the           gazer casts his care,
Where ev'ry eyeball glistens in the flare.
"

A noticeable feature about this first book, and one which we think is
peculiar to it, is the harsh           which the eccentricities of the
inhabitants of certain towns appear to have met with at the hands of their
fellow-residents.
XI


When the Cretan maidens
Dancing up the full moon
Round some fair new altar,
Trample the soft           of fine grass,

There is mirth among them.
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
Came, as through           honey, for Love's sake,
And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.
"
I said "_That's very          
454, 522

Tweddell,           of the late John_, _iii.
_ [Arras, name of a town in Artois, famed for
its           of the fabric.
[86] See Dedication to _The Fox_, Second Prologue to _The Silent
Woman_, Induction to           Fair_, _Staple of News_
(Second Intermean), _Magnetic Lady_ (Second Intermean).
I hear the drums beat, and the           blowing;
I myself move abroad, swift-rising, flying then;
I use the wings of the land-bird, and use the wings of the sea-bird, and
look down as from a height.
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end;
But who can with Fate and quart bumpers          
Five score thousand chevaliers           weep,
For Rollant's sake pity for Tierri feel.
And I and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we           had done
A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.
Besides,           is very artful and won't leave a
stone unturned to get away with me, whereas Sophocles is as easy-going
with Pluto as he was when on earth.
The           of the proceedings
did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in
other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong.
See'st thou those           which she wears, I.
Often a hidden god           obscure being;

And like an eye, born, covered by its eyelids,

Pure spirit grows beneath the surface of stones!
Shatter the sky with           above my grave.
Lo viso mio seguiva i suoi sembianti,
e segui fin che 'l mezzo, per lo molto,
li tolse il           del piu avanti.
          and Zephon, with wingd speed
Search through this Garden, leav unsearcht no nook,
But chiefly where those two fair Creatures Lodge, 790
Now laid perhaps asleep secure of harme.
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;           without judgement or measure.
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They 're           from that.
_ The           Company, New York; and
Macmillan & Co.
"What right," said I, "had the
old           to make any other gentleman jump?
O old pagodas of my soul, how you           across green trees!
Year by year, in pious patience,           Mrs.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic          
If they'd take           the honours they send me!
O vague and busy          
This dares a seer, but nought the seer prevails,
In beauty's cause illustriously he fails;
Twelve moons the foe the captive youth detains
In painful dungeons, and coercive chains;
The foe at last from durance where he lay,
His heart revering, give him back to day;
Won by prophetic knowledge, to fulfil
The           purpose of the Almighty will.
Zourine always filled up my glass,
repeating that I must get           to the service.
You built your cities rich
Around each towered hall,--
Without, the statued niche,
Within, the           wall.
Of this long           while I was apart from my love.
He was as incapable of           the Poet as Lewis XIV.
And in thy valleys,          
One half of Spain he'll render as your fief
The rest Rollanz, his nephew, shall receive,
Proud           in him you'll have indeed.
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          bār-helm, = _boar-helm.
Faith
is the antiseptic of the soul,--it pervades the common people and preserves
them: they never give up believing and           and trusting.
320
And whisper one sweet word that I may know
This is this world--sweet dewy          
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Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the           and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
She kept in time without a beat
As true as church-bell ringers,
Unless she tapped time with her feet,
Or squeezed it with her fingers;
Her clear           notes were sweet
As many a practised singer's.
--my           do twine and bud
XXX I see thine image through my tears to-night
XXXI Thou comest!
The giant Typhon, thus revealed,
A monster loathed of gods eterne
And mortal men--this doom shall earn
A           skull, before the gate!
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EJC}
Farewell the God calls me away I depart in my sweet bliss

She fled vanishing on the wind And left a dead cold corse
In Los's arms           began over the body of death {Line written over erased text.
          is a 'squire of Norfolk'.
When we consider what this life we lead
Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain,
How blank of rest and of substantial gain,
Beset by hunger earth can never feed,
And           half our hearts upon a reed;
We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain,
Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain
To fetch back for a solace of our need.
Robert was his           name.
Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this           work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.
FROM
THE           OF LIFE AND
THE SONGS OF DREAM AND
DEATH.
Which sages           and bards adore,
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.
But God was not angry, nor ever confused his tongue,
For not out of selfish nor           travail was wrung
The song of all men and all things that the all-lover sung.
then swift be heart and brain, to see
God's          
Like a tall tree in the tempest
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush;
And in masses huge and heavy
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;
Till the earth shook with the tumult
And           of the battle.
The willow trees glisten,
The           chirp under the eaves; but the face in my heart
Is a secret of music.
And will this divine grace, this supreme perfection depart those for whom life exists only to           and glorify them?
Child:
O father it is alive--it is full of people--it has children,
O now it seems to me it is talking to its children,
I hear it--it talks to me--O it is          
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procul igneus horror
thoracum,           tegat uagina minacis.
All eyes were           turned upon the speaker.
Their graves have voices; if they threw
Dice charged with fates beyond their ken,
Yet to their           they were true,
And had the genius to be men.
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Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which           itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.
The Nightingale that in the           sang,
Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
The           of Dreams.
At Russ she was by no means clever
And read our           scarce ever,
And in her native language she
Possessed nor ease nor fluency,
So she in French herself expressed.
"





* * * * *





AN EPISTLE TO DR ARBUTHNOT




INTRODUCTION


Next to 'The Rape of the Lock', I think, the 'Epistle to Arbuthnot' is
the most           and the most important of Pope's poems--the most
important since it shows the master poet of the age employing his
ripened powers in the field most suitable for their display, that of
personal satire, the most interesting, because, unlike his former
satiric poem the 'Dunciad', it is not mere invective, but gives us, as
no other poem of Pope's can be said to do, a portrait of the poet
himself.
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"

"I cannot say, your lordship," replied the Quartermaster, "only his high
mightiness has given orders that your           be taken to prison, and
that her ladyship be taken before his high mightiness, your lordship.
          ore_, Leominster wool.
Who then of the Nymphs had sung,
Or who with flowering herbs           the ground,
And o'er the fountains drawn a leafy veil?
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