Gems of national poetry. Compiled and ed. by mrs. ValentineLaura Valentine 1880 |
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Стр. 10
... hath any bird a finer pipe than And of these chaunting fowls , the goldfinch not behind , [ her kind . That hath so many sorts descending from The tydy from her notes as delicate as they , The laughing hecco , then the counterfeit- ing ...
... hath any bird a finer pipe than And of these chaunting fowls , the goldfinch not behind , [ her kind . That hath so many sorts descending from The tydy from her notes as delicate as they , The laughing hecco , then the counterfeit- ing ...
Стр. 10
... hath any bird a finer pipe than And of these chaunting fowls , the goldfinch not behind , [ her kind . That hath so many sorts descending from The tydy from her notes as delicate as they , The laughing hecco , then the counterfeit- ing ...
... hath any bird a finer pipe than And of these chaunting fowls , the goldfinch not behind , [ her kind . That hath so many sorts descending from The tydy from her notes as delicate as they , The laughing hecco , then the counterfeit- ing ...
Стр. 51
... hath a part of being , and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence . Then stirs the feeling infinite , so felt In solitude , where we are least alone ; A truth , which through our being then doth melt , And purifies from ...
... hath a part of being , and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence . Then stirs the feeling infinite , so felt In solitude , where we are least alone ; A truth , which through our being then doth melt , And purifies from ...
Стр. 52
... hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled , The first dark day of nothingness , The last of danger and distress ( Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers ) , And marked the mild ...
... hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled , The first dark day of nothingness , The last of danger and distress ( Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers ) , And marked the mild ...
Стр. 53
... hath closed on Helle's stream , Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill That moon , which shone on his high theme ; No warrior chides her peaceful beam , But conscious shepherds bless it still . Their flocks are grazing on the mound Of him who ...
... hath closed on Helle's stream , Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill That moon , which shone on his high theme ; No warrior chides her peaceful beam , But conscious shepherds bless it still . Their flocks are grazing on the mound Of him who ...
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bear beauty beneath bird blessed blood breast breath bright child clouds cold comes dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel fire flowers follow gentle give gone grave green hand happy hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour King Lady land leaves light live look lord mind morn mother mountain nature never night o'er once pass past play poor rest rise rose round seemed seen side sing sleep smile soft song soon soul sound speak spirit spring stand star stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought true turn voice wandering waves wild wind wings young youth
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Стр. 49 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar. I love not man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Стр. 214 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Стр. 253 - She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me...
Стр. 48 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
Стр. 164 - IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round : And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
Стр. 259 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear. A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Стр. 216 - Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one...
Стр. 216 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Стр. 195 - 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 ! ODE TO MERCY.
Стр. 215 - WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth...