The poetical works of Thomas MooreCrissy and Grigg, 1829 - 408 sider |
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Side 6
... happy hours . " - ( Spectator . ) " To pass over its pages is like treading upon a velvet carpet of curious pattern . There is not a word that is not a picture - not a sentence that is not smooth , deep , yielding , yet springy ...
... happy hours . " - ( Spectator . ) " To pass over its pages is like treading upon a velvet carpet of curious pattern . There is not a word that is not a picture - not a sentence that is not smooth , deep , yielding , yet springy ...
Side iv
... With twenty chords my lyre is hung . LXXIII . Fare thee well , perfidious maid LXXIV . I bloom'd awhile , a happy flower . LXXV . Monarch Love ! resistless boy . . • • Page Page LXXVI . Spirit of Love , whose tresses iv CONTENTS .
... With twenty chords my lyre is hung . LXXIII . Fare thee well , perfidious maid LXXIV . I bloom'd awhile , a happy flower . LXXV . Monarch Love ! resistless boy . . • • Page Page LXXVI . Spirit of Love , whose tresses iv CONTENTS .
Side xv
... happy to find that the Government , of which the Right Honourable Chairman forms a part , has taken the fine arts under their protection . It is for them a proud and honourable distinction , that , while they show they possess the ...
... happy to find that the Government , of which the Right Honourable Chairman forms a part , has taken the fine arts under their protection . It is for them a proud and honourable distinction , that , while they show they possess the ...
Side xxxi
... happy , idolize Mr Moore's de- line that in itself would not pass for poetry , that lightful muse , on her pedestal of airy smiles or is not at least a vivid or harmonious common transient tears . Lord Byron's severer verse is place ...
... happy , idolize Mr Moore's de- line that in itself would not pass for poetry , that lightful muse , on her pedestal of airy smiles or is not at least a vivid or harmonious common transient tears . Lord Byron's severer verse is place ...
Side xxxiii
... happy days ! when , if he touch ́d a flower , Or gem of thine , ' t was sacred from that hour ; When thou didst study him till every tone And gesture and dear look became thy own , - Thy voice like his , the changes of his face In thine ...
... happy days ! when , if he touch ́d a flower , Or gem of thine , ' t was sacred from that hour ; When thou didst study him till every tone And gesture and dear look became thy own , - Thy voice like his , the changes of his face In thine ...
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Anacreon ancient angels Bacchus bard beam beautiful beneath bless blest bliss bloom blush bosom bowers breath bright brow burning called Catullus charm creon dark dear death delight divine dream e'er earth Epicurus epigram eyes fair fancy feel fire flame flowers glory glow grace hath heart Heaven holy hope hour Irish King kiss Lady Morgan Lalla Rookh light lips live look look'd Lord Lord Byron lyre maid Moore morning ne'er never night Note nymph o'er Persian Philostratus Pindar Plato poem poet rose rosy round says seem'd shade shed shine sigh sleep smile song soul spirit sweet tears tears of wine tell thee thine things Thomas Moore thou thought throne translation trembling turn'd twine vellum warm weep Whigs wild wing words young youth δε και
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Side 320 - Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain lias bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Side 333 - The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone.
Side 301 - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee !" The minstrel fell ! but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ! The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder...
Side 285 - OH ! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. AIR — The Brown Maid. On ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head...
Side 285 - No ; — life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers. Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Side 57 - There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die...
Side 285 - OH ! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you now ; Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. No : — life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns...
Side 301 - Then awake! — the heavens look bright, my dear, Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days, Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear...
Side 302 - Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Side 27 - Cheer'd by this hope, she bends her thither ; — Still laughs the radiant eye of heaven, Nor have the golden bowers of even In the rich west begun to wither ; — When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging Slowly, she sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild-flowers singing, As rosy and as wild as they ; Chasing...