Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
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There is a mystic thread of life
So dearly wreath'd with mine alone,
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Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times,
Patron and publisher of rhymes,
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Dear Doctor, I have read your play,
Which is a good one in its way,
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To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
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The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
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When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
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I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
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Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art;
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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
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Oh! Weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream,
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There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
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When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
And climb'd thy steep sumrnit, oh Morven of snow!
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A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. IX Nisus, the guardian of the portal stood,
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When fierce conflicting urge The breast where love is wont to glow,
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'I cannot but remember such things were, And were most dear to me.'
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MONTGOMERY! true, the common lot Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
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Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting are true;
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'Tu semper amoris Sisd memor, etcari comitis ne abscedat imago'~Val Flac
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The braziers, it seems, are preparing to pass An address, and present it themselves all in brass,--
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The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, The beginning of every end, and the end of every place.
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Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
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Cousin to the Author, and very dear to him Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
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Let Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me in friendship twined;
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In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could sever;
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Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear! What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
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When, to their airy hall, my father's voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;
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'Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years, and the blast of the desert
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Whene'er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
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'Away, away, your fleeting arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
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