PoemsCharles Griffin, 1865 - 168 страница |
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appear arms bear beauties Bertha blood breast Bristol cause cease Celmonde charms Chatterton dark dead death doth Ella eyes face fair fall fame fate fear fell fight fire flame give gone grace hand happiness hast hath head hear heart heaven hill holy honour hour king leave light live Look Lord loud means mighty mind morning Muse nature never night o'er once pain plain pleasure Poems poor pride priest rest rise roll round saints seen sense shine side sigh sight sing smile soft song soul sound speak spread sprite stand stay strain strong sweet swell Swift sword tear tell thee thine thou thought tree true truth unto virtue Whilst wind young
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Страница 13 - I cannot but think myself singularly obliged by a gentleman with whom I have not the pleasure of being acquainted, when I read your very curious and kind letter, which I have this minute received.
Страница 267 - In the brier'd dell below; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing To the nightmares, as they go: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true love's shroud...
Страница 267 - My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true love's shroud: Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree.
Страница 27 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night. Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again. From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure; and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain— Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Страница 127 - Catcott is very fond of talk and fame — His wish a perpetuity of name ; Which to procure, a pewter altar's made, To bear his name, and signify his trade ; In pomp burlesqued the rising spire to head, To tell futurity a pewterer's dead.
Страница 17 - ... he has his own reasons for so doing, and is prudent. Need I remind you of the contrast ? The poverty of authors is a common observation, but not always a true one. No author can be poor who understands the arts of booksellers ; without this necessary knowledge the greatest genius may starve, and with it the greatest dunce live in splendour. This knowledge I have pretty well dipped into.
Страница 205 - Before him went the council-men, In scarlet robes and gold, And tassels spangling in the sun, Much glorious to behold...
Страница 111 - WHAT is war and all its joys ? Useless mischief, empty noise. What are arms and trophies won ? Spangles glittering in the sun. Rosy Bacchus, give me wine, Happiness is only thine ! What is love without the bowl? 'Tis a languor of the soul : Crown'd with ivy, Venus charms, Ivy courts me to her arms. Bacchus, give me love and wine, Happiness is only thine ! THE VIRGIN S CHOICE.
Страница 14 - As a second edition of my Anecdotes was published last year, I must not flatter myself that a third will be wanted soon, but I shall be happy to lay up any notices you will be so good as to extract for me, and send me at your leisure; for as it is uncertain when I may use them, I would by no means borrow and detain your MSS. "Give me leave to ask you, where Rowley's poems are to be found. I should not be sorry to print them, or at least a specimen of them, if they have never been printed.
Страница 202 - I do weep, That thou so soon must die, And leave thy sons and helpless wife ; . .. 'Tis this that wets mine eye.