Pearls from the poets: specimens selected, with biogr. notes, by H.W. DulckenHenry William Dulcken 1860 |
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24 ページ
... sing to them . And often after sunset , Sir , When it is light and fair , I take my little porringer , And eat my supper there . The first that died was little Jane ; In bed she moaning lay , Till God released her of her pain ; And then ...
... sing to them . And often after sunset , Sir , When it is light and fair , I take my little porringer , And eat my supper there . The first that died was little Jane ; In bed she moaning lay , Till God released her of her pain ; And then ...
32 ページ
... singing , as they shine , " The Hand that made us is Divine . " ADDISON . [ JOSEPH ADDISON , the masterly essayist , the elegant classic scholar , and , above all , the sincere Christian , was born in 1672 , and educated at Oxford . He ...
... singing , as they shine , " The Hand that made us is Divine . " ADDISON . [ JOSEPH ADDISON , the masterly essayist , the elegant classic scholar , and , above all , the sincere Christian , was born in 1672 , and educated at Oxford . He ...
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... WAKE , sweet harp of Judah , wake , Re - tune thy strings for Jesus ' sake ; We sing the Saviour of our race , A The Lamb , our shield , and hiding - place . 36 THE SAVIOUR . When God's right arm is bared. THE SAVIOUR.
... WAKE , sweet harp of Judah , wake , Re - tune thy strings for Jesus ' sake ; We sing the Saviour of our race , A The Lamb , our shield , and hiding - place . 36 THE SAVIOUR . When God's right arm is bared. THE SAVIOUR.
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... sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning , most loving mere folly : Then , heigh ho ! the holly ! This life is most jolly . Freeze , freeze , thou bitter sky , That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot ...
... sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning , most loving mere folly : Then , heigh ho ! the holly ! This life is most jolly . Freeze , freeze , thou bitter sky , That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot ...
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... 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 . 54 THE SKYLARK . In the golden lightning Of the. THE SKYLARK.
... 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 . 54 THE SKYLARK . In the golden lightning Of the. THE SKYLARK.
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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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55 ページ - 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...
137 ページ - 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?
14 ページ - 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.
156 ページ - 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
27 ページ - 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.
115 ページ - 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...
138 ページ - 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...
22 ページ - 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.
121 ページ - 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.
56 ページ - 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.