Selections from the British Poets, Том 2Harper & brothers, 1840 |
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Страница ix
... morning of life Thee , thee , only thee . 280 . 281 282 283 284 . 284 Those evening bells Oft , in the stilly night Weep not for those . 285 286 · . 286 lin · Το my Mother This world is all a fleeting show To the Memory of Joseph ...
... morning of life Thee , thee , only thee . 280 . 281 282 283 284 . 284 Those evening bells Oft , in the stilly night Weep not for those . 285 286 · . 286 lin · Το my Mother This world is all a fleeting show To the Memory of Joseph ...
Страница 14
... morn , While warbling larks on russet pinions float : Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote , Where the gray linnets carol from the hill . Oh , let them ne'er , with artificial note , To please a tyrant , strain the little bill ...
... morn , While warbling larks on russet pinions float : Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote , Where the gray linnets carol from the hill . Oh , let them ne'er , with artificial note , To please a tyrant , strain the little bill ...
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... morning gilds , And all that echoes to the song of even , All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields , And all the dread magnificence of Heaven , [ given ? Oh , how canst thou renounce , and hope to be for- These charms shall work ...
... morning gilds , And all that echoes to the song of even , All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields , And all the dread magnificence of Heaven , [ given ? Oh , how canst thou renounce , and hope to be for- These charms shall work ...
Страница 19
... morn brings forth , And fostering gales a while the nursling fan . Oh smile , ye Heavens serene ; ye mildews wan , Ye blighting whirlwinds , spare his balmy prime , Nor lessen of his life the little span . Borne on the swift though ...
... morn brings forth , And fostering gales a while the nursling fan . Oh smile , ye Heavens serene ; ye mildews wan , Ye blighting whirlwinds , spare his balmy prime , Nor lessen of his life the little span . Borne on the swift though ...
Страница 22
... morn , Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow , Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn , A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne . But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain ...
... morn , Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow , Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn , A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne . But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain ...
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AE fond kiss art thou auld lang syne beauty beneath bless'd bloom bosom bower Branksome Hall breast breath bright brow burst of joy calm charms cheek clouds dark dead dear death deep delight dread dream earth ev'ry fair fame fancy fled flowers fond frae gale gaze gentle grave green happy harp hath hear heart Heaven hill hope hour John Gilpin JOSEPH ATKINSON Kilmeny land light living Lochiel lonely look lyre Marmion mirth morn mountain murmur muse Nature's ne'er never night o'er pass'd peace PIBROCH pleasure pow'r pride rapture rill rose round scene seem'd shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star stream sweet tears thee thine thou art thought Twas vale voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wings Yarrow youth
Популарни одломци
Страница 154 - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Страница 152 - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Страница 311 - The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the Storm Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Страница 153 - What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Страница 152 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee!
Страница 32 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place.
Страница 196 - There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush!
Страница 207 - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Страница 110 - Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Страница 318 - Oh, listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands : —A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.