The works of Thomas Moore, comprehending all his melodies, ballads, etc, Volume 7

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A. and W. Galignani, 1823

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Page ccxv - Eximia veste et victu convivia, ludi, pocula crebra, unguenta coronae serta parantur, nequiquam, quoniam medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat...
Page 138 - But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Page 90 - Or like those envious pearls that show So faintly round that neck of snow. Yes, I would be a happy gem. Like them to hang, to fade like them. What more would thy Anacreon be ? Oh, anything that touches thee ! Nay, sandals for those airy feet — Thus to be press'd by thee were sweet ! ODE XXIII.
Page 155 - Olympus' bowers ; Whose virgin blush, of chasten'd dye, Enchants so much our mortal eye. When pleasure's bloomy season glows, The Graces love to twine the rose ; The rose...
Page 307 - Thou'lt still be young for me. And, as thy lips the tear-drop chase Which on my cheek they find, So hope shall steal away the trace...
Page 113 - The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold. And now the embers...
Page 87 - The vapours which at evening weep Are beverage to the swelling deep ; And when the rosy sun appears, He drinks the ocean's misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam. Then, hence with all your sober thinking i Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine ! ODE XXII.
Page 135 - Rose, thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower; Rose, thou art the fondest child Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild. Even the Gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh. Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, His hair with rosy fillet braids, When with the blushing, sister Graces, The wanton winding dance he traces.
Page 285 - A REFLECTION AT SEA. SEE how, beneath the moonbeam's smile, Yon little billow heaves its breast, And foams and sparkles for a while, And murmuring then subsides to rest. Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, Rises on Time's eventful sea, And, having swelled a moment there, Thus melts into eternity ! A CHALLENGE.
Page 96 - Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest ; But when the chilling winter lowers, Again thou seek'st the genial bowers Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, Where sunny hours of verdure smile.

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