PoemsT. Cadell and W. Davies, 1820 - 251 стор. |
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Сторінка 7
... hear the minstrel play , games and carols closed the busy day . Her wheel at rest , the matron thrills no more With treasured tales , and legendary lore . All , all are fled ; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent ...
... hear the minstrel play , games and carols closed the busy day . Her wheel at rest , the matron thrills no more With treasured tales , and legendary lore . All , all are fled ; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent ...
Сторінка 10
... hear , When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near : And has its sober hand , its simple chime , Forgot to trace the feathered feet of Time ? That massive beam , with curious carvings wrought , Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive ...
... hear , When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near : And has its sober hand , its simple chime , Forgot to trace the feathered feet of Time ? That massive beam , with curious carvings wrought , Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive ...
Сторінка 18
... die . h For this young FOSCARI , whose hapless fate Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate , When exile wore his blooming years away , To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey , When reason , justice , vainly urged his cause , 18.
... die . h For this young FOSCARI , whose hapless fate Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate , When exile wore his blooming years away , To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey , When reason , justice , vainly urged his cause , 18.
Сторінка 19
... reposed . And as his youth in sweet delusion hung , Where once a PLATO taught , a PINDAR sung ; Who now but meets him musing , when he roves His ruined Tusculan's romantic groves ? In Rome's great forum , who but hears him roll 19.
... reposed . And as his youth in sweet delusion hung , Where once a PLATO taught , a PINDAR sung ; Who now but meets him musing , when he roves His ruined Tusculan's romantic groves ? In Rome's great forum , who but hears him roll 19.
Сторінка 20
Samuel Rogers. In Rome's great forum , who but hears him roll His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ? And hence that calm delight the portrait gives : We gaze on every feature till it lives ! Still the fond lover sees the absent maid ...
Samuel Rogers. In Rome's great forum , who but hears him roll His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ? And hence that calm delight the portrait gives : We gaze on every feature till it lives ! Still the fond lover sees the absent maid ...
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Загальні терміни та фрази
adieu age to age antient bids birds bless blest blush breast breathe bright Cacique calm CANTO charm clime Columbus controul Cortes courser dark dead deep delight desert shore dream echo Eumenides Euripides father fear fled fond frown gaze glory glows grave grove guavas hail hand heart heaven Hence Herrera hour human voice hung inspire Jacqueline light live lumbus Maximian melt MEMORY mighty Wind mind Muse night o'er once pensive pleasure rapture resigned rise rite round rude sacred sail says scene secret seraph shade shine shone shore sigh silent sleep smile song soon sooth sorrow soul sphere spirit spring steals sung sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou thought thro trace trembling triumphs truth Twas vales VESPASIAN VIRGIL's tomb voice Voyage wake wave weep whence wild wind wings youth Zemi
Популярні уривки
Сторінка 16 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Сторінка 134 - CHLOE'S eye ; Then, trembling, left its coral cell — The spring of Sensibility ! Sweet drop of pure and pearly light ! In thee the rays of Virtue shine ; More calmly clear, more mildly bright, Than any gem that gilds the mine.
Сторінка 152 - MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall, shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Сторінка 103 - Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile, And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! — Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks, And mantle o'er her neck of snow. Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks What most I wish — and fear to know. She starts, she trembles, and she weeps ! Her fair hands folded on her breast. — And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! A seraph in the realms of rest ! Sleep on secure ! Above...
Сторінка 40 - Than when the shades of time serenely fall On every broken arch and ivied wall; The tender images we love to trace, Steal from each year a melancholy grace ! And as the sparks of social love expand, As the heart opens in a foreign land; And, with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile, The stranger greets each native of his isle...
Сторінка 163 - CHILD of the sun ! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light; And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy!
Сторінка 83 - But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
Сторінка 12 - Her tattered mantle and her hood of straw ; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er ; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps in the barn with mousing owlets bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; Whose dark eyes flashed through locks of blackest shade, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayed: And heroes fled the sibyl's muttered call, Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard wall.
Сторінка 248 - Young man, there is America, which at this day serves for little more than to amuse you with stories of savage men and uncouth manners ; yet shall, before you taste of death, show itself equal to the whole of that commerce which now attracts the envy of the world.
Сторінка 31 - To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. Ages and climes remote to Thee impart What charms in Genius, and refines in Art ; Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell, The pensive portress of her holy cell ; Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.