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appearance beauty become better body called Charles clear close clouds cold comes continued course cried dark deep Dolan door Duck Evans eyes face fair fall fancy fear feel feet fire Fish followed gave give glance half hand head heart hold honor hope horse hour imagination kind laugh least leave legs less light living look lost matter means mind morning nature never night object observed ocean once passed play poor replied rest round sail scene season seemed seen ship short side smile soon sound spirit spring stood strange sure tell thing thou thought Tibbs tion took tree turn vessel voice walk watch whole wild wind young
Страница 229 - COME, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come ; And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, "While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
Страница 233 - I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare: — If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.
Страница 249 - Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with me in white: for they are worthy.
Страница 196 - Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Страница 244 - THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, — They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
Страница 66 - Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow ? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow ? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain, Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Who taught that Heaven-directed spire to rise ? " The Man of Ross,
Страница 238 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's 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.
Страница 221 - This darling flower, this early child of spring, " that comes before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty,