Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - 352 страница |
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Страница xxvi
... Majesty of God STODDARD , LAVINIA . The Soul's Defiance 812 313 169 285 285 175 . 8 148 287 287 287 234 26 Other World , The 248 xxvi LIST OF AUTHORS . THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW THE LATE SPRING THE GREEN GNOME THE DOORSTEP PAN IN WALL STREET.
... Majesty of God STODDARD , LAVINIA . The Soul's Defiance 812 313 169 285 285 175 . 8 148 287 287 287 234 26 Other World , The 248 xxvi LIST OF AUTHORS . THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW THE LATE SPRING THE GREEN GNOME THE DOORSTEP PAN IN WALL STREET.
Страница xxvii
... Spring in Carolina 311 Memory of the Heart , The 156 TOPLADY , AUGUSTUS M. WESLEY , CHARLES . Love divine , all Love excelling 58 Jesus , Lover of my Soul . 58 TRENCH , RICHARD CHENEVIX . Kingdom of God , The 241 WHITE , HENRY KIRKE ...
... Spring in Carolina 311 Memory of the Heart , The 156 TOPLADY , AUGUSTUS M. WESLEY , CHARLES . Love divine , all Love excelling 58 Jesus , Lover of my Soul . 58 TRENCH , RICHARD CHENEVIX . Kingdom of God , The 241 WHITE , HENRY KIRKE ...
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... spring , but sorrow's fall . Thy gowns , thy shoes , thy beds of roses , Thy cap , thy kirtle , and thy posies , Soon break , soon wither , soon forgotten , In folly ripe , in reason rotten . Thy belt of straw and ivy buds , Thy coral ...
... spring , but sorrow's fall . Thy gowns , thy shoes , thy beds of roses , Thy cap , thy kirtle , and thy posies , Soon break , soon wither , soon forgotten , In folly ripe , in reason rotten . Thy belt of straw and ivy buds , Thy coral ...
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... spring : Then , since to eternal God she doth as- pire , She cannot be but an eternal thing . " All moving things to other things do move Of the same kind , which shows their nature such " ; 11 And as the moisture which the thirsty ...
... spring : Then , since to eternal God she doth as- pire , She cannot be but an eternal thing . " All moving things to other things do move Of the same kind , which shows their nature such " ; 11 And as the moisture which the thirsty ...
Страница 13
... spring were all your own ! What are you , when the rose is blown ? So , when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind ; By virtue first , then choice , a Queen ! Tell me , if she were not designed The eclipse and glory ...
... spring were all your own ! What are you , when the rose is blown ? So , when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind ; By virtue first , then choice , a Queen ! Tell me , if she were not designed The eclipse and glory ...
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angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
Популарни одломци
Страница 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Страница 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Страница 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Страница 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Страница 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Страница 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Страница 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Страница 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Страница 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Страница 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!