Poetical works, with a life of the author (abridged from W. Howitt).Routledge, Warne and Routledge, 1859 |
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Страница xxi
... deep in a volume of Clarendon , " unconsciously preparing himself by such studies for the high and arduous destiny which not only the good genius of France , but his . own sagacious and intrepid spirit , had early marked out for him ...
... deep in a volume of Clarendon , " unconsciously preparing himself by such studies for the high and arduous destiny which not only the good genius of France , but his . own sagacious and intrepid spirit , had early marked out for him ...
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... deep as I ! And when the cluster's mellowing dews Their warm , enchanting balm infuse , Our feet shall catch th ' elastic bound , And reel us through the dance's round . O Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee , In wild but sweet ebriety ...
... deep as I ! And when the cluster's mellowing dews Their warm , enchanting balm infuse , Our feet shall catch th ' elastic bound , And reel us through the dance's round . O Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee , In wild but sweet ebriety ...
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... Deep as the rich and holy vase , Which on the shrine of Spring reposes , When shepherds hail that hour of roses . Grave it with themes of chaste design , Form'd for a heavenly bowl like mine . Display not there the barbarous rites , In ...
... Deep as the rich and holy vase , Which on the shrine of Spring reposes , When shepherds hail that hour of roses . Grave it with themes of chaste design , Form'd for a heavenly bowl like mine . Display not there the barbarous rites , In ...
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... . ODE XIV . COUNT me , on the summer trees , Every leaf that courts the breeze ; Count me , on the foamy deep . Every wave that sinks to sleep ; Then , when you have number'd these Billowy tides and ODES OF ANACREON .
... . ODE XIV . COUNT me , on the summer trees , Every leaf that courts the breeze ; Count me , on the foamy deep . Every wave that sinks to sleep ; Then , when you have number'd these Billowy tides and ODES OF ANACREON .
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... deep ; And when the rosy sun appears , He drinks the ocean's misty tears . The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam . Then , hence with all your sober thinking ! Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make ...
... deep ; And when the rosy sun appears , He drinks the ocean's misty tears . The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam . Then , hence with all your sober thinking ! Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make ...
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Poetical Works, with a Life of the Author (Abridged from W. Howitt) Thomas Moore Приказ није доступан - 2015 |
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Anacreon Bacchus beam beauty beneath Bermuda blest bliss bloom blushing bosom bowers bowl breast breath breeze bright Bromham brow burning Catullus charm cheek dark dear death delight Devizes divine Donnington Park dream e'en earth Erin eyes fair fancy feel fire flame flowers friends glance glory glow gold grace harp hath heart heaven hour hung kiss Lalla Rookh light lips live look look'd Lord Lord Byron Lord John Russell Lord Lansdowne Lord Moira lover lyre maid mingle Moore morning ne'er never night nymph o'er once Persian poet rose rosy round rove seem'd shade shed shine sigh sing sleep slumber smile soft song soul sparkling spirit steal sweet tear tears of wine tell thee thine thou thought trembling Twas twine vermil wanton warm wave weep wild wind wine wing young youth
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Страница 238 - Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories...
Страница 264 - When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; And every flower the summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Страница 206 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Страница 190 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. "Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 'The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Страница 271 - Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword. Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah hath triumphed, — his people are free ! FIFE AND DRUM.
Страница 346 - twas a sight, — that heaven, that child, A scene, which might have well beguiled Even haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how felt he, the wretched man Reclining there, while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, — Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
Страница 267 - THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. (AIR. — BEETHOVEN. ) THE bird, let loose in eastern skies,* When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.
Страница 271 - And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
Страница 241 - Then come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows ; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Was not the sea Made for the Free, Land for courts and chains alone ? Here we are slaves, But, on the waves, Love and liberty 's all our own.
Страница 360 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle. To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die ! Now too — the joy most like divine Of all I ever dreamt or knew.