Woodcuts and VersesPrinted at the private Press of Lee Priory; by John Warwick., 1820 - Всего страниц: 116 |
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Стр. 17
... poor and the opprest . Angel of light , the spell is thine That lifts with raptures all divine Coy Nature's lowliest child : In spite of penury and scorn , For Him is Fancy's sweetest morn , Dear Nurse of visions wild ! 8 1 Ode to the ...
... poor and the opprest . Angel of light , the spell is thine That lifts with raptures all divine Coy Nature's lowliest child : In spite of penury and scorn , For Him is Fancy's sweetest morn , Dear Nurse of visions wild ! 8 1 Ode to the ...
Стр. 55
... Poor Blond alone , my old ally , Sits in profound demureness nigh , O'erwatching every page , And wondering much , as much he may , What case can thus , the summer - day , His Master's care engage ! But should Amanda seek the brook ...
... Poor Blond alone , my old ally , Sits in profound demureness nigh , O'erwatching every page , And wondering much , as much he may , What case can thus , the summer - day , His Master's care engage ! But should Amanda seek the brook ...
Стр. 71
... Poor trembler , in her simple dread , She hears the wily Fowler's tread ; And from her lowly dwelling springs , To lure him far , on wheeling wings . But hush , poor Bird , thy clamorous suit ; And Thou , whom day offends , be mute ...
... Poor trembler , in her simple dread , She hears the wily Fowler's tread ; And from her lowly dwelling springs , To lure him far , on wheeling wings . But hush , poor Bird , thy clamorous suit ; And Thou , whom day offends , be mute ...
Стр. 87
... poor Son of Song , unaccustom'd to kindness , Stood mutely bewilder'd , unable to move , Till she left him , accusing the Muses of blindness , That could let such a creature sing sweetly of love . Stung with shame by the keen parting ...
... poor Son of Song , unaccustom'd to kindness , Stood mutely bewilder'd , unable to move , Till she left him , accusing the Muses of blindness , That could let such a creature sing sweetly of love . Stung with shame by the keen parting ...
Стр. 119
... as in beauty humbled , Feels shame's keen vipers on her aching brow , While they whose ears are shut to misery's groan View the poor Wretch with eyes and hearts of stone . SONNET II . Medusa . EAUTIFUL Maniac of the locks.
... as in beauty humbled , Feels shame's keen vipers on her aching brow , While they whose ears are shut to misery's groan View the poor Wretch with eyes and hearts of stone . SONNET II . Medusa . EAUTIFUL Maniac of the locks.
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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...