The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth CenturyTilt and Bogue, 1841 - 344 страници |
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Страница 1
... tones , that wind around the vaulted roof , And pointed arches , and retiring aisles Of some old , lonely minster , where the hand , Skilful , and moved with passionate love of art , LYRE . B 2 POETRY . Plays o'er the higher keys , and ...
... tones , that wind around the vaulted roof , And pointed arches , and retiring aisles Of some old , lonely minster , where the hand , Skilful , and moved with passionate love of art , LYRE . B 2 POETRY . Plays o'er the higher keys , and ...
Страница 14
... tone comes stealing by , And years , and sin , and manhood flee , And leave me at my mother's knee . The book of nature , and the print Of beauty on the whispering sea , Give aye to me some lineament Of what I have been taught to be ...
... tone comes stealing by , And years , and sin , and manhood flee , And leave me at my mother's knee . The book of nature , and the print Of beauty on the whispering sea , Give aye to me some lineament Of what I have been taught to be ...
Страница 20
... deep the thrilling of its tone , I find that murmur in your notes - they touch the chords of thought , And a sudden flow of tenderness across my soul is brought . A STRAIN OF MUSIC . 21 If I have bid 20 20 A Strain of Music By Mrs Hemans.
... deep the thrilling of its tone , I find that murmur in your notes - they touch the chords of thought , And a sudden flow of tenderness across my soul is brought . A STRAIN OF MUSIC . 21 If I have bid 20 20 A Strain of Music By Mrs Hemans.
Страница 21
... the seeming paragon ; To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given A form so fair , that , like the air , ' tis less of earth than heaven . 22 A HEALTH . Her every tone is music's own A Health By E C Pinkney.
... the seeming paragon ; To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given A form so fair , that , like the air , ' tis less of earth than heaven . 22 A HEALTH . Her every tone is music's own A Health By E C Pinkney.
Страница 22
Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth Century Lyre. 22 A HEALTH . Her every tone is music's own , like those of morning birds , And something more than melody dwells ever in her words ; The coinage of her heart are they , and from her lips ...
Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth Century Lyre. 22 A HEALTH . Her every tone is music's own , like those of morning birds , And something more than melody dwells ever in her words ; The coinage of her heart are they , and from her lips ...
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ALARIC beams beauty Behave yoursel beneath billows bird blessed blue bosom bower breast breath bright bright eyes brow calm charm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep doth dream e'en earth EAST INDIAMAN fair fame feeling Fireside fled flowers gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave grief harp hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour KIRKSTALL ABBEY land life's light lips lonely look LORD BYRON lute LYRE mirth morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale passion rose round Sappho shine shore SICILIAN VESPERS sigh silent skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought tones Twas Valentine's day voice wave weep wild wind wings young youth
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Страница 195 - ... tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth...
Страница 158 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror...
Страница 166 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Страница 60 - And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre.
Страница 195 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Страница 159 - They fought — like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun.
Страница 104 - O'er each fair sleeping brow, She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid ; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade.
Страница 163 - AND thou hast walked about, (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And Time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Страница 86 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Страница 278 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...