The Poetical Common-place Book: Consisting of an Original Selection of Standard and Fugitive Poetry, Including a Few Translations Hitherto UnpublishedJohn Anderson, 1822 - 388 страници |
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Страница xi
... o'er the dell , 200 Blest as th ' immortal gods is he , 162 Breathes there the man with soul so dead , 34 Bright stranger ! welcome to my field , 93 Bring me a garland , bring me a wreath , 82 Clos'd is the book , the tale is o'er ...
... o'er the dell , 200 Blest as th ' immortal gods is he , 162 Breathes there the man with soul so dead , 34 Bright stranger ! welcome to my field , 93 Bring me a garland , bring me a wreath , 82 Clos'd is the book , the tale is o'er ...
Страница xiii
... O'er breezy hill or woodland glade , 255 3 Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me was stirr'd , 4 126 344 55 O'er the evils of life ' tis a folly to fret , O fairest orb of heav'nly light , Oft have I seen yon solitary man , Of ...
... O'er breezy hill or woodland glade , 255 3 Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me was stirr'd , 4 126 344 55 O'er the evils of life ' tis a folly to fret , O fairest orb of heav'nly light , Oft have I seen yon solitary man , Of ...
Страница xv
... o'er all the vacant plains , ' Tis past ! no more the summer blooms ! " Tis sweet , when in the glowing west , Page 46 381 324 121 278 181 248 16 957 8 " Tis the last sweet smile of the evening sun , To fair Fidele's grassy tomb , 288 ...
... o'er all the vacant plains , ' Tis past ! no more the summer blooms ! " Tis sweet , when in the glowing west , Page 46 381 324 121 278 181 248 16 957 8 " Tis the last sweet smile of the evening sun , To fair Fidele's grassy tomb , 288 ...
Страница 1
... that short quick sigh , And flushes o'er that rosy face ; Whilst shame and infant modesty Shrink back with hesitating grace . A The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek At that sweet voice still The Voice of Praise, Mitford, Page.
... that short quick sigh , And flushes o'er that rosy face ; Whilst shame and infant modesty Shrink back with hesitating grace . A The lovely maiden's dimpled cheek At that sweet voice still The Voice of Praise, Mitford, Page.
Страница 4
... o'er his head , And we far away on the billow . Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone , And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But nothing he'll reck , if they let him sleep on , In the grave where a Briton has laid him . But ...
... o'er his head , And we far away on the billow . Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone , And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But nothing he'll reck , if they let him sleep on , In the grave where a Briton has laid him . But ...
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admiring bands ANONYMOUS art thou beam beauty beneath billows black crows blast blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath breeze bright charm cheek cherub clouds cold dark dark wave dead dear death delight dream earth ev'ning ev'ry fair fate Fingal flowers fond Gelert gleam gloom glory glow grave green grief grove hail hast hath hear heart Heav'n HENRY KIRKE WHITE hill hour kiss of Morn light lips lonely LORD BYRON lov'd lyre maid moon morn mountain mourn Muse ne'er night o'er pale rapture rill rose round scene seem'd shade sigh silent sleep slumber smile soft song sorrow soul sound star Star of Bethlehem storm strain stream summer sweet swell tear tell tempest thee thine thou thought tomb tree trembling Twas vale voice wake wander wave weep wild wind wing woods youth
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Страница 53 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Страница 187 - THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Страница 270 - When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known...
Страница 247 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee...
Страница 235 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out...
Страница 304 - Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Страница 189 - If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of Death...
Страница 229 - Can I forget the dismal night, that gave My soul's best part for ever to the grave! How silent did his old companions tread, By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings!
Страница 85 - Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more ! Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase me?
Страница 4 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.