A Poetry-book of Elder Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics, Selected and Arranged, with Notes, from the Works of the Elder English Poets, Dating from the Beginning of the Fourteenth Century to the Middle of the Eighteenth CenturyB. Tauchnitz, 1878 - 298 sider |
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Side 28
... Voice which did thy sounds approve , Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow , Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above , What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more , But orphans ...
... Voice which did thy sounds approve , Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow , Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above , What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more , But orphans ...
Side 39
... voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return , Sicilian Muse , And call the vales , and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues . Ye valleys low , where the mild whispers use Of shades , and wanton winds ...
... voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return , Sicilian Muse , And call the vales , and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues . Ye valleys low , where the mild whispers use Of shades , and wanton winds ...
Side 66
... voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault , Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! " -Thus sung they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note : And all the way , to guide their chime , With ...
... voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault , Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! " -Thus sung they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note : And all the way , to guide their chime , With ...
Side 76
... voice ; The show'rs were short ; the weather mild ; The morning fresh ; the evening smil❜d . Joan takes her neat - rubbed pail , and now She trips to milk the sand - red cow , Where , for some sturdy foot - ball swain , She strokes a ...
... voice ; The show'rs were short ; the weather mild ; The morning fresh ; the evening smil❜d . Joan takes her neat - rubbed pail , and now She trips to milk the sand - red cow , Where , for some sturdy foot - ball swain , She strokes a ...
Side 81
... voice through mazes running , Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus ' self may heave his head From golden slumber , on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers , and hear Such strains as would have won the ...
... voice through mazes running , Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus ' self may heave his head From golden slumber , on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers , and hear Such strains as would have won the ...
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A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets, Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics ... Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards Ingen forhåndsvisning - 2016 |
Almindelige termer og sætninger
ALEXANDER SELKIRK AULD ROBIN GRAY BATTLE OF AGINCOURT Beaumont beauty birds Blake breath bright CHRIST'S NATIVITY crown dear death doth Dunfermline town earth Edward Elder Poets ELEGY ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA Eurydice eyes fair fairy fear Fletcher flower golden good-morrow grave green grief grove hand hast hath hear heart heaven Helen honour INVERMAY King Kirconnell kiss ladies light Line live Lord LOVE'S LOVER Lycidas lyre Milton moon MORNING OF CHRIST'S Mother Muse Nanny ne'er never night nightingale Noroway notes numbers nymph o'er Osiris pain PATRICK SPENCE Phillida flouts Philomela pleasure poem praise Procne rose sad cypress Sally shade Shakespeare shepherds shine sing SIR PATRICK SPENCE sleep smiling SONG sorrow soul sound spring stream swain sweet tears tell Tereus Thammuz thee things tree unto Verse voice wanton weep wilt thou winds wings Yarrow youth
Populære passager
Side 39 - But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Side 85 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
Side 19 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Side 73 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
Side 139 - Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.
Side 117 - When Love with unconfine'd wings Hovers within my Gates ; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates : When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye ; The Birds, that wanton in the Air, Know no such Liberty.
Side 272 - tis said) Before was never made But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Side 37 - When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Side 274 - The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Side 211 - 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, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.