Golden Leaves from the British PoetsBunce and Huntington, 1866 - 546 sider |
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Side 42
... o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards , the famous Druids , lie , Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high , Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream ...
... o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards , the famous Druids , lie , Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high , Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream ...
Side 49
... o'er the furrow'd land , And the milkmaid singeth blithe , And the mower whets his scythe , And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale . Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it ...
... o'er the furrow'd land , And the milkmaid singeth blithe , And the mower whets his scythe , And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale . Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it ...
Side 53
... Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight , Smoothing the rugged brow of Night , While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustom'd oak . -Sweet bird , that shunn'st the noise of folly , MILTON . 53 133.
... Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight , Smoothing the rugged brow of Night , While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustom'd oak . -Sweet bird , that shunn'st the noise of folly , MILTON . 53 133.
Side 60
... o'er again , And thrice he routed all his foes , and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise , His glowing cheeks , his ardent eyes ; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed his hand 60 GOLDEN LEAVES .
... o'er again , And thrice he routed all his foes , and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise , His glowing cheeks , his ardent eyes ; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed his hand 60 GOLDEN LEAVES .
Side 66
... o'er its leaves shall move , And on its top descends the mystic dove . Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour , And in soft silence shed the kindly shower ! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid— From 66 GOLDEN LEAVES ...
... o'er its leaves shall move , And on its top descends the mystic dove . Ye heavens ! from high the dewy nectar pour , And in soft silence shed the kindly shower ! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid— From 66 GOLDEN LEAVES ...
Indhold
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
art thou beauty beneath blessed blood blow bosom bower breast breath bright brow charm cheek cloud cowslips Cutty-sark dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair falchion fear flowers frae gaze gentle golden grace grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre holy hour king kiss lady land land of mist light lips live Lochaber Locksley Hall look Lord loud Lycidas lyre maid Marmion merry moon morn mother Muse ne'er never night nymph o'er pale passion pride Rory O'More rose round shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm sweet tale tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought Tis green Twas voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wing young youth
Populære passager
Side 358 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Side 99 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Side 19 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Side 224 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Side 36 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Side 103 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Side 123 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Side 40 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Side 100 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Side 223 - The Sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners...