Pearls from the poets: specimens selected, with biogr. notes, by H.W. DulckenHenry William Dulcken 1860 |
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Стр. 20
... waves dance , and the young woods lean . And see where the brighter day - beams pour , How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ! And the morn and the eve , with their pomp of hues Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ...
... waves dance , and the young woods lean . And see where the brighter day - beams pour , How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ! And the morn and the eve , with their pomp of hues Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ...
Стр. 22
... wave beneath him shining ; Thus shall memory often , in dreams sublime , Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ; Thus , sighing , look through the waves of Time For the long - faded glories they cover . MOORE . We are Seven . A ...
... wave beneath him shining ; Thus shall memory often , in dreams sublime , Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ; Thus , sighing , look through the waves of Time For the long - faded glories they cover . MOORE . We are Seven . A ...
Стр. 28
... Wave , Munich ! all thy banners wave , And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few , few shall part where many meet ; The snow shall be their winding - sheet ; And every sod beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre ! CAMPBELL ...
... Wave , Munich ! all thy banners wave , And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few , few shall part where many meet ; The snow shall be their winding - sheet ; And every sod beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre ! CAMPBELL ...
Стр. 45
... drop , Upon the quiet mountain - top , Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley . The rosemary nods upon the grave : The lily lolls upon the wave ; 46 THE SLEEPER . Wrapping the fog about its breast. THE SLEEPER.
... drop , Upon the quiet mountain - top , Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley . The rosemary nods upon the grave : The lily lolls upon the wave ; 46 THE SLEEPER . Wrapping the fog about its breast. THE SLEEPER.
Стр. 46
... wave the curtain canopy So fitfully , so fearfully , Above the closed and fringed lid ' Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid , That , o'er the floor and down the wall , Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall ! O lady dear , hast thou ...
... wave the curtain canopy So fitfully , so fearfully , Above the closed and fringed lid ' Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid , That , o'er the floor and down the wall , Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall ! O lady dear , hast thou ...
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ALEXANDER POPE battle BATTLE OF WATERLOO beauty behold beneath BERNARD BARTON Blest born bower breath bright Cam'rons CHARLES LAMB charm cheek cheerful child churchway clouds cold COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD dark dead death deep died dost doth e'en earth EDGAR ALLAN POE ELEGY WRITTEN Elizabethan era EPICEDIUM eyes fair fame fire flowers genius gilded lilies glory grace grave green hast hath hear heard heart heaven hills Honour hour light lonely look loud MILTON moon morn mother mother's love mouldering mournful ne'er never night numbers o'er old familiar faces poems poet praise pride reign round sigh silent sing SIR JOHN MOORE Skiddaw sleep smile soft song soothe sorrow soul sound SPANISH ARMADA spirit star stormy winds Sweet Mary tears thee THOMAS CAMPBELL THOMAS OTWAY thou art thou busy thought tower Twas voice waves weary weep wild winds do blow woods youth
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Стр. 55 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower...
Стр. 137 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells — Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Стр. 14 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs - and God has given my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
Стр. 156 - As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a" the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi
Стр. 27 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Стр. 115 - Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease; Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne...
Стр. 138 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly: thousands...
Стр. 22 - She had a rustic, woodlai.d air, And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be? " " How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
Стр. 121 - WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Стр. 56 - Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.