Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic, Том 31855 |
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Страница 156
... Rest not GOLDSMITH . ... Hope ... ... : ... : GOUFFE , ARMAND . Praise of Water GRAHAM . Venus Rising from the Sea GRAHAME , JAMES . The Covenanters : ... 224 ... : .. : : ... 95 447 202 58 268 : ... : . : : : : : . : .. : .. : ... 60 ...
... Rest not GOLDSMITH . ... Hope ... ... : ... : GOUFFE , ARMAND . Praise of Water GRAHAM . Venus Rising from the Sea GRAHAME , JAMES . The Covenanters : ... 224 ... : .. : : ... 95 447 202 58 268 : ... : . : : : : : . : .. : .. : ... 60 ...
Страница 172
... rest . In the morning , horn of huntsman , hoof of steed , and laugh of rider , Spread out cheery from the courtyard , till we lost them in the hills ; While herself and other ladies , and her suitors left beside her , Went a ...
... rest . In the morning , horn of huntsman , hoof of steed , and laugh of rider , Spread out cheery from the courtyard , till we lost them in the hills ; While herself and other ladies , and her suitors left beside her , Went a ...
Страница 178
... rest , Yet shining footprints on the air doth leave ; While through the deepening twilight , soft and slow , The fragrant evening breezes come and go ! How beautiful , when light Hath fled ; and leaf and stream Rest in a quiet dream ...
... rest , Yet shining footprints on the air doth leave ; While through the deepening twilight , soft and slow , The fragrant evening breezes come and go ! How beautiful , when light Hath fled ; and leaf and stream Rest in a quiet dream ...
Страница 179
... rest , Soft as the hush of night , Father of All ! So from the sleep of death , with quickening ray , Wake me to radiant life , Thou God of Day ! THE COMBAT . Sir WALTER SCOTT . THEN each at once his faulchion drew , Each on the ground ...
... rest , Soft as the hush of night , Father of All ! So from the sleep of death , with quickening ray , Wake me to radiant life , Thou God of Day ! THE COMBAT . Sir WALTER SCOTT . THEN each at once his faulchion drew , Each on the ground ...
Страница 184
... rest , And on the glassy heaving sea The black duck with her glossy breast Sits swinging silently ; How beautiful ! no ripples break the reach , And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach . And inland rests the green , warm dell ; The ...
... rest , And on the glassy heaving sea The black duck with her glossy breast Sits swinging silently ; How beautiful ! no ripples break the reach , And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach . And inland rests the green , warm dell ; The ...
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Advertisements bear beauty beneath bird blue Books breast breath bright cheek clear Clerical close cloth cloud cold comes complete CRITIC dark dead death deep dream earth Edited eyes face fair fall fear feel flowers gold golden gone grave green hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour Journal Lady land leaves light live London look lost moon morning mother nature never night o'er once pale pass Passages poem poet POETRY published rest rose round shade shadow silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars Strand stream summer sweet tears thee thine things thou thought trees turn voice volume waves wild wind woods young
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Страница 200 - I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
Страница 198 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Страница 189 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ; How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries...
Страница 215 - Or the seven stars to light you, Or the polar ray to right you ; But you never may behold Little John or Robin bold ; Never one, of all the clan, Thrumming on an empty can Some old hunting ditty, while He doth his green way beguile To fair Hostess Merriment Down beside the pasture Trent, For he left the merry tale Messenger for spicy ale.
Страница 208 - THE sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the" landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore, Though evening with her richest dye Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree...
Страница 194 - Morea's hills the setting sun; not as in northern climes obscurely bright, but one unclouded blaze of living light : o'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws, gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows. On old jEgina's rock and Idra's isle the god of gladness sheds his parting smile; o'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, though there his altars are no more divine.
Страница 198 - None like her, none. Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk, And shook my heart to think she comes once more But even then I "heard her close the door, The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.
Страница 221 - Call for the robin redbreast, and the -wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Страница 200 - I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river...
Страница 194 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!