A thousand and one gems of English poetry, selected and arranged by C. Mackay

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Charles Mackay
1897
 

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Страница 409 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy...
Страница 194 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn...
Страница 546 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image.
Страница 434 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Страница 62 - This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden demi-paradise ; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...
Страница 472 - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Страница 336 - I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet ; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ;...
Страница 574 - We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel. Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore. Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes,...
Страница 442 - Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream — Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Страница 38 - tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament, , (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins...

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