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Abbess ARSENE HOUSSAYE Athens BAYARD TAYLOR beautiful Beneath bliss blue bower breath bright Bronchitis brow charm cheek clasp cold Count Otto courser dance dark delight Digore dragon dream earth Entomology eyes faded fair falchion fancy fat friars father fear feel flings flowers fond frown Fustian Hall gaze gout grace grave grief hair hand hath heard heart heaven hope hour illustrated insect John Moultrie lady laugh light lips lonely look Lord Louis XV lover Lurley lute maid maiden minstrel Muse never night Nonny numbers o'er pale passion prayer quadrille reader Rhine rhyme rose sigh silent sing Sir Isumbras sleep smile song sorrow soul steed style sweet talked taste tears tell thee thine thou thought to-day to-night toil tone Vidal voice volume waking eye wander weary ween weep wild young youth
Стр. 133 - And nothings for Sylvanus Urban. He did not think all mischief fair, Although he had a knack of joking; He did not make himself a bear, Although he had a taste for smoking. And when religious sects ran mad He held, in spite of all his learning, That if a man's belief is bad It will not be improved by burning.
Стр. 142 - She smiled on many just for fun ; I knew that there was nothing in it ; I was the first — the only — one Her heart had thought of for a minute : I knew it, for she told me so In phrase which was divinely moulded. She wrote a charming hand, and oh How sweetly all her notes were folded I Our love was like most other loves — A little glow, a little shiver, A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And
Стр. 182 - No!' If he wears a top-boot in his wooing, If he comes to you riding a cob, If he talks of his baking or brewing, If he puts up his feet on the hob, If he ever drinks port after dinner, If his brow or his breeding is low, If he calls himself 'Thompson' or 'Skinner', My own Araminta, say 'No!
Стр. 139 - There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that...
Стр. 140 - My father frowned; but how should gout See any happiness in kneeling? She was the daughter of a dean, Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; She had one brother just thirteen, Whose color was extremely hectic; Her grandmother, for many a year, Had fed the parish with her bounty; Her second cousin was a peer, And lord-lieutenant of the county.
Стр. 54 - Sounds seemed dropping from the skies. Stifled whispers, smothered sighs, And the breath of vernal gales, And the voice of nightingales : But the nightingales were mute, Envious, when an unseen lute Shaped the music of its chords Into passion's thrilling words. ' Smile, lady, smile ! — I will not set Upon my brow the coronet, Till thou wilt gather roses white, To wear around its gems of light.
Стр. 50 - The hungry and keen on the top are leaping, The lazy and fat in the depths are sleeping; Fishing is fine when the pool is muddy, Broiling is rich when the coals are ruddy!' In a monstrous fright, by the murky light, He looked to the left and he looked to the right, And what was the vision close before him, That flung such a sudden stupor o'er him?
Стр. 131 - Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way, between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the green, And guided to the Parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through...
Стр. 264 - Fling high the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul Beneath the silent night ! The wreath upon his head, The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said and the tear be shed, So, — take him to his rest ! Call ye my whole, — ay, call The lord of lute and lay ; And let him greet the sable pall With a noble song to-day. Go, call him by his name ! No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave.
Стр. 140 - And then she danced, — oh, heaven, her dancing! Dark was her hair, her hand was white; Her voice was exquisitely tender; Her eyes were full of liquid light; I never saw a waist so slender; Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she'd left her sparrows.