Poems of Old AgeGeorge Coolidge, 1861 - 128 страница |
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Страница 11
... young phantom dear , Lighting my path as on I stray , The spectres grim of guilt and fear Are my companions on the way ; That nothing now to me is left , But patience to endure the load Of added years , each one bereft Of blessings ...
... young phantom dear , Lighting my path as on I stray , The spectres grim of guilt and fear Are my companions on the way ; That nothing now to me is left , But patience to endure the load Of added years , each one bereft Of blessings ...
Страница 12
... young Fancy's dreams are o'er , I still can banquet on the past , And draw from Memory's ample store As rich a treat as Hope's repast . As o'er my shoulder , back I peer , I see no grinning spectres pale , No scowling imps of guilt or ...
... young Fancy's dreams are o'er , I still can banquet on the past , And draw from Memory's ample store As rich a treat as Hope's repast . As o'er my shoulder , back I peer , I see no grinning spectres pale , No scowling imps of guilt or ...
Страница 15
... young ecstasy ; And Love , once kind and tenderly outpouring Her wine into our souls , we may recall , And find them dear and ever heavenward soaring , Though only now as Shadows on the Wall . Old clasping bands , old friendships and ...
... young ecstasy ; And Love , once kind and tenderly outpouring Her wine into our souls , we may recall , And find them dear and ever heavenward soaring , Though only now as Shadows on the Wall . Old clasping bands , old friendships and ...
Страница 17
... young you are ! " I'm growing old ! Thanks for the years whose rapid flight My sombre muse too sadly sings ; Thanks for the gleams of golden light That tint the darkness of her wings- The light that beams from out the sky , Those ...
... young you are ! " I'm growing old ! Thanks for the years whose rapid flight My sombre muse too sadly sings ; Thanks for the gleams of golden light That tint the darkness of her wings- The light that beams from out the sky , Those ...
Страница 18
... young man cried ; " The few locks that are left you are gray ; You are hale , Father William - a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason , I pray . " " In the days of my youth , " Father William re- " I remembered that youth would fly ...
... young man cried ; " The few locks that are left you are gray ; You are hale , Father William - a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason , I pray . " " In the days of my youth , " Father William re- " I remembered that youth would fly ...
Чести термини и фразе
Angel auld lang syne Auld Robin Gray beam beauty blessed bloom bosom boys bright brow cheek cold Cousin Jane days of auld dear death door dream Eliza Cook eyes faded Father William fear flowers Frae friends gentle gone Goody Blake grandmother grave gray hair gray old growing old hand happy harp Harry Gill hath head hear heart Heaven Jamie knee life's light live look MAN-AT-ARMS minstrel mother mother's kiss mourn neath never night o'er old English gentleman old familiar faces OLD MAN'S olden Perilla Pilgrim Society poor pray psalm quoth the gray rose round scene sigh silent silver streak sing smile songs of auld songs our fathers sorrow soul stars sweet tears teeth they chatter tell thee There's thou hast Tommy's dead tree Twas wandering weary wind window binding shoes wrinkled young Young Harry youth
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Страница 48 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly...
Страница 113 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Страница 23 - All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a Love once, fairest among women : Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Страница 46 - Though born in such a high degree ; In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! When kindness had his wants supplied, And the old man was gratified, Began to rise his minstrel pride ; And he began to talk anon, Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone, And of Earl Walter...
Страница 63 - I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
Страница 4 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Страница 106 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first sight, if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
Страница 42 - CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin auld lang syne.
Страница 95 - No word to any man he utters, A-bed or up, to young or old ; But ever to himself he mutters, " Poor Harry Gill is very cold." A-bed or up, by night or day ; His teeth they chatter, chatter still, Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, Of Goody Blake and Harry GilL I WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills.
Страница 50 - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.