Muse! now the servant of soft loves no more 53 98 I 96 96 86 52 26 99 83 Rise, then, immortal maid! Religion, rise! 88 98 Now, Lord, or never, they'll believe on Thee One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood O these wakeful wounds of Thine Pallas saw Venus armed, and straight she cried Passenger, whoe'er thou art Rich Lazarus ! richer in those gems, thy tears See here an easy feast that knows no wound The smiling Morn had newly waked the Day This reverend shadow cast that setting sun Thou cheat'st us, Ford; mak'st one seem two by Art Thou hast the art on't, Peter, and canst tell - Thou trimm'st a Prophet's tomb, and dost bequeath 96 102 38 99 95 29 43 102 -39 51 99 98 ΙΟΙ Thou water turn'st to wine (fair friend of life) To Thee these first-fruits of My growing death Two devils at one blow thou hast laid flat Two mites, two drops (yet all her house and land) Unde rubor vestris, et non sua purpura lymphis? - Welcome, my grief, my joy; how dear's Well, Peter, dost thou wield thy active sword What bright soft thing is this 97 97 102 104 78 47 100 98 95 104 102 ΙΟΙ 103 76 When you are mistress of the song What succour can I hope the Muse will send Whence in your waters, say, that alien glow? Where art thou, Sol, while thus the blindfold Day 7 105 30 9 Whoe'er she be II Why dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that passest by 100 49 WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., PRINTERS, HULL. |