A topographical and historical description of the parish of Tixall, by sir T. and A. Clifford

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Page 73 - And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Page 57 - There, interspers'd in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. Here in full light the russet plains extend : There wrapt in clouds the bluish hills ascend. E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes, And 'midst the desert fruitful fields arise, That crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn, Like verdant isles, the sable waste adorn.
Page 57 - Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water, seem to strive again ; Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised, But as the world harmoniously confused: Where order in variety we see, And where, though all things differ, all agree.
Page 77 - Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view ! The fountain's fall, the river's flow, The woody...
Page 67 - Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays!
Page 98 - This is the head of a traitor," no clamor of assent was uttered. Pity, remorse, and astonishment had taken possession of every heart, and displayed itself in every countenance. This is the last blood which was shed on account of the Popish plot; an incident which, for the credit of the nation, it were better to bury in eternal oblivion; but which it is necessary to perpetuate, as well to maintain the truth of history, as to warn, if possible, their posterity and all mankind never again to fall into...
Page 59 - ... and calls the gods to hear: From all your troops select the boldest knight, And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight. Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain, Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain; But let my body, to my friends return'd, By Trojan hands and Trojan flames be burn'd.
Page 222 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Page 71 - The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, The yellow beech, the sable yew, The slender fir, that taper grows, ' The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs.
Page 32 - Hellespont the vigorous blaze held on Its smiling way, and like the orient sun Illumes with golden-gleaming rays the head Of rocky Macetas ; nor lingers there, Nor winks unheedful, but its warning flames Darts to the streams of Euripus, and gives Its glittering signal to the guards that hold Their high watch on Mesapius. These enkindle The joy-denouncing fires, that spread the blaze To where Erica hoar its shaggy brow Waves rudely.

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