Woodcuts and VersesPrinted at the private Press of Lee Priory; by John Warwick., 1820 - Всего страниц: 116 |
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Стр. 41
... Nymphs , and playing Where the richest clusters grow : Who will wander with me ? Round my staff the tendrils wreathing , Thus the ' autumnal prize I bear ; All it's musky ripeness breathing Sweets to load the wings of air . Who will ...
... Nymphs , and playing Where the richest clusters grow : Who will wander with me ? Round my staff the tendrils wreathing , Thus the ' autumnal prize I bear ; All it's musky ripeness breathing Sweets to load the wings of air . Who will ...
Стр. 47
... Nymphs . To crown the spell , the visionary Maid , Fixing her dark eyes on the silvery orb , Sung a fantastic song , An anthem to the Moon . Strains wilder issued never from the lips Of Troy's pale Prophetess , nor mellower tones Flow'd ...
... Nymphs . To crown the spell , the visionary Maid , Fixing her dark eyes on the silvery orb , Sung a fantastic song , An anthem to the Moon . Strains wilder issued never from the lips Of Troy's pale Prophetess , nor mellower tones Flow'd ...
Стр. 61
... Nymphs and the Dryads embellish'd the scene , No Lady appear'd of so lofty a port , As she stood , like Diana , in midst of the Green . O when was more sweet a young blossom transplanted Than Sudeley sent forth in a palace to shine ? O ...
... Nymphs and the Dryads embellish'd the scene , No Lady appear'd of so lofty a port , As she stood , like Diana , in midst of the Green . O when was more sweet a young blossom transplanted Than Sudeley sent forth in a palace to shine ? O ...
Стр. 67
... Nymph thought , while she tenderly listened , She cared not how soon he was buried alive . ' O , remember that fruit is maturest in autumn , And that time mellows wine , ' said the eloquent Sage : But when winter , thought she , sheds ...
... Nymph thought , while she tenderly listened , She cared not how soon he was buried alive . ' O , remember that fruit is maturest in autumn , And that time mellows wine , ' said the eloquent Sage : But when winter , thought she , sheds ...
Стр. 87
... Nymph of his heart half revoked her disdain , And , when next he came near , the delightful concession Of smiles like the morning rewarded his strain . But the poor Son of Song , unaccustom'd to kindness , Stood mutely bewilder'd ...
... Nymph of his heart half revoked her disdain , And , when next he came near , the delightful concession Of smiles like the morning rewarded his strain . But the poor Son of Song , unaccustom'd to kindness , Stood mutely bewilder'd ...
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ancient Greece Avondale Avonmore beauty beguiling Bird bloom bowers breathe brow Brydges Calydonian Boar Cephisus charm cheek Clifton Halls crown dance daughter divine dreams Dunluce Castle e'en enchanted eyes Fair Bridges fair Lee Fairy all day Fan softly Fancy Fancy's fane Farewell to Lee feet flowers gale gentle Lady fair Goddess golden grace green sunny isle grove heart Herodotus hill hopes hunting the Fairy Keivin's Lapwing Lee Priory light Lord Chandos loved the Moon lovelier Lydian stream Maid that loved Medusa melancholy mellow merry in Clifton Monksdale Muse Nightingale Notes Nymph o'er Parian marble pensive pleasure Plutarch poet poetical pride Printer private Press proud Queen rocky shine sing smile song SONNET Soul spirit springs Stanza Sudeley Castle sung sweet sylvan tall Bird thine thou art Thucydides thy harp thy wall vale Vartrey verse voice wander warble wild wild-daisy wings wood Xenophon young Gleaner youth
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Стр. 131 - 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 ! TO MERCY.
Стр. 133 - Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects
Стр. 133 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Стр. 133 - When he had better far have stretched his limbs Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, By sun or moon-light, to the influxes Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame Should share in Nature's immortality, A venerable thing ! and so his song Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself Be loved like Nature...
Стр. 133 - A different lore : we may not thus profane Nature's sweet voices, always full of love And joyance ! 'Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes; As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Стр. 133 - Should share in Nature's immortality, A venerable thing! and so his song Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself Be loved like Nature! But 'twill not be...
Стр. 133 - Careering round, Joy wings his feet, Joy lifts him from the ground! Pointing to such, well might Cornelia say, When the rich casket shone in bright array,
Стр. 133 - And she hath watched Many a nightingale perch giddily On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze, And to that motion tune his wanton song Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head.
Стр. 133 - twill not be so; And youths and maidens most poetical, Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.
Стр. 41 - Culling flowers of rhyme. Fancy's children, ever heedless, Why thus bribe the hours ? Death to prove the trouble needless Withers all your flowers ; Why then bribe the hours ? Like the sand so fast retreating, Thus your hopes shall fall ; Life and fame are just as fleeting ; Poets, flowers, and all...