The Poets and Poetry of England, in the Nineteenth CenturyCarey & Hart, 1845 - 504 sider |
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Side 20
... rock was borne her comely form ! But oh ! what storm was in that mind ! what strife , That could compel her to lay down her life ! For she was seen within the sea to wade , By one at distance , when she first had pray'd ; Then to a rock ...
... rock was borne her comely form ! But oh ! what storm was in that mind ! what strife , That could compel her to lay down her life ! For she was seen within the sea to wade , By one at distance , when she first had pray'd ; Then to a rock ...
Side 22
... rock Lour'd o'er the untended flock , And eagles on its crest their aërie hung : And when fierce gales bow'd the high pines , when blazed The lightning , and the savage in the storm Some unknown godhead heard , and awe - struck , gazed ...
... rock Lour'd o'er the untended flock , And eagles on its crest their aërie hung : And when fierce gales bow'd the high pines , when blazed The lightning , and the savage in the storm Some unknown godhead heard , and awe - struck , gazed ...
Side 23
... rocks between , And floods , in streams of silver sheen , Gush from their flinty cell ! Or where the ivy waves her woof , And climbs the crag alone , Haunts the cool grotto , daylight proof , Where loitering drops that wear the roof ...
... rocks between , And floods , in streams of silver sheen , Gush from their flinty cell ! Or where the ivy waves her woof , And climbs the crag alone , Haunts the cool grotto , daylight proof , Where loitering drops that wear the roof ...
Side 34
... rock fill'd , overflow'd it ; Then dash'd away , playing the prodigal , And soon was lost - stealing unseen , unheard , Through the long grass and round the twisted roots Of aged trees ; discovering where it ran By the fresh verdure ...
... rock fill'd , overflow'd it ; Then dash'd away , playing the prodigal , And soon was lost - stealing unseen , unheard , Through the long grass and round the twisted roots Of aged trees ; discovering where it ran By the fresh verdure ...
Side 37
... rock to rock , and hill to hill . Ah , mark the merry maid in mockful play With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill ! THE APPROACH OF COLD WEATHER . ONE morn , what time the sickle ' gan to play , The eastern gates of heaven ...
... rock to rock , and hill to hill . Ah , mark the merry maid in mockful play With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill ! THE APPROACH OF COLD WEATHER . ONE morn , what time the sickle ' gan to play , The eastern gates of heaven ...
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The Poets and Poetry of England, in the Nineteenth Century Rufus Wilmot Griswold Uddragsvisning - 1845 |
Almindelige termer og sætninger
art thou beauty beneath blood bosom bower breast breath bright bright eye brow calm Catiline cheek child clouds cold dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eyes fair falchion fancy fear feel flowers gaze gentle gleam gloom glory glow golden grave green grief hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour John of Procida Lady of Shalott Lars Porsena LEIGH HUNT life's light lips living lone look look'd Lord LORD BYRON lyre mighty morning mountain ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd poems poet rill rose round Samian wine seem'd shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars stream sweet tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought tomb tree turn'd Twas vex'd voice waves weary weep wild wind wings youth
Populære passager
Side 51 - I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Side 188 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile; In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown ; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Side 58 - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou...
Side 230 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
Side 310 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Side 91 - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! — To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
Side 68 - She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, " Now tread we a measure,
Side 306 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Side 57 - O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest — Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us,...
Side 237 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.