The book of poetry [ed. by B.G. Johns].E. Lumley, 1847 - 186 стор. |
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Сторінка 3
... up on the Caldon - Hill ? " " I heard the drops of the water made , And the green corn ears to fill . " 66 Oh , tell me all , my Mary , - All , all that ever you know ; 4 THE FAIRIES OF CALDON - LOW . For you. PT . I.
... up on the Caldon - Hill ? " " I heard the drops of the water made , And the green corn ears to fill . " 66 Oh , tell me all , my Mary , - All , all that ever you know ; 4 THE FAIRIES OF CALDON - LOW . For you. PT . I.
Сторінка 8
... tell to me How this wonderful thing may be ! " 66 Thy question seems simple , my darling child " ( Then answered the lady with voice so mild ) ; " Yet , dear one , I cannot tell to thee , How this wonderful thing may be ; I see the star ...
... tell to me How this wonderful thing may be ! " 66 Thy question seems simple , my darling child " ( Then answered the lady with voice so mild ) ; " Yet , dear one , I cannot tell to thee , How this wonderful thing may be ; I see the star ...
Сторінка 10
... tell me the reason , I pray . " " In the days of my youth , " Father William replied , " I remembered that youth would fly fast , And abused not my health and my vigour at first , That I never might need them at last . " " You are old ...
... tell me the reason , I pray . " " In the days of my youth , " Father William replied , " I remembered that youth would fly fast , And abused not my health and my vigour at first , That I never might need them at last . " " You are old ...
Сторінка 11
... tell me the reason , I pray . " " I am cheerful , young man , " Father William re- " Let the cause thy attention engage ; [ plied , In the days of my youth I remember'd my God , And He hath not forgotten my age . " SOUTHEY . LLEWELLYN ...
... tell me the reason , I pray . " " I am cheerful , young man , " Father William re- " Let the cause thy attention engage ; [ plied , In the days of my youth I remember'd my God , And He hath not forgotten my age . " SOUTHEY . LLEWELLYN ...
Сторінка 13
... tell To hear his infant cry ! Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap , His hurried search had miss'd , All glowing from his rosy sleep , His cherub boy he kiss'd ! Nor scratch had he , nor harm , nor dread : But the same couch beneath Lay a ...
... tell To hear his infant cry ! Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap , His hurried search had miss'd , All glowing from his rosy sleep , His cherub boy he kiss'd ! Nor scratch had he , nor harm , nor dread : But the same couch beneath Lay a ...
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beauty behold bells beneath bowers breast breath bright Caledonia CASABIANCA charms cheerful clouds cried Cumnor Hall dark dead death deep doth dread E'en earth eyes fair falchion Father William fear flowers Gelert gentle glory grave green green days Grongar Hill hand hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill HOHENLINDEN hope HYMN King Henry land light LLEWELLYN lonely look look'd Lord Lycidas Mayenne Milford Bay morn mourn murmur never night o'er pass'd Plymouth Bay pomp porringer praise pray round S. T. COLERIDGE shade sight silent sing Skiddaw skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound sound of music spirit spring star stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought village voice wave weep wild wind wings woods young youth
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Сторінка 116 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor...
Сторінка 28 - Sweet smiling village ! loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green ! One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain...
Сторінка 119 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and...
Сторінка 120 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Сторінка 34 - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Сторінка 134 - I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly : thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.
Сторінка 26 - And when the Sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oak, Where the rude Axe with heaved stroke, Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Сторінка 65 - Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they, I pray you tell?
Сторінка 28 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Сторінка 73 - Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow, On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave ! And charge with all thy chivalry...