Pearls from the poets: specimens selected, with biogr. notes, by H.W. DulckenHenry William Dulcken 1860 |
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... FLOWERS W. C. Bryant .. 69 NIGHT ( from " Christabel " ) TIME THE SKYLARK .. A STORM IN HARVEST BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST To A BEE .... S. T. Coleridge 70 Scott 71 .Hogg 72 Dryden 73 Byron 75 Southey 77 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM A DIRGE .Campbell ...
... FLOWERS W. C. Bryant .. 69 NIGHT ( from " Christabel " ) TIME THE SKYLARK .. A STORM IN HARVEST BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST To A BEE .... S. T. Coleridge 70 Scott 71 .Hogg 72 Dryden 73 Byron 75 Southey 77 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM A DIRGE .Campbell ...
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... flowers That freshly budded , and new blooms did bear , In which a thousand birds had built their bowers , B 10 THE PROCESSION OF THE SEASONS . That sweetly sung. The Procession of the Seasons . Lines from the " Deserted Deserted Village ...
... flowers That freshly budded , and new blooms did bear , In which a thousand birds had built their bowers , B 10 THE PROCESSION OF THE SEASONS . That sweetly sung. The Procession of the Seasons . Lines from the " Deserted Deserted Village ...
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... may be mentioned " The Indian Maid's Lament , " " Thanatopsis , " " The Evening Wind , " " The Death of the Flowers , " and " The Gladness of Nature . " His longer poems are less pleasing . ] ET Erin remember the days of old , Ere her.
... may be mentioned " The Indian Maid's Lament , " " Thanatopsis , " " The Evening Wind , " " The Death of the Flowers , " and " The Gladness of Nature . " His longer poems are less pleasing . ] ET Erin remember the days of old , Ere her.
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... flower of the orange blows , And the fire - flies glance through the myrtle boughs ? " " Not there , not there , my child ! " [ Of the poetry of FELICIA HEMANS , Scott is related to have deplored that , with so many and such fair ...
... flower of the orange blows , And the fire - flies glance through the myrtle boughs ? " " Not there , not there , my child ! " [ Of the poetry of FELICIA HEMANS , Scott is related to have deplored that , with so many and such fair ...
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... flowers and grass , which screen it from the view . Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves , By warm winds deflower'd , Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy - wingèd thieves . Sound of vernal ...
... flowers and grass , which screen it from the view . Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves , By warm winds deflower'd , Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy - wingèd thieves . Sound of vernal ...
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Términos y frases comunes
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
Pasajes populares
Página 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...
Página 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?
Página 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.
Página 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
Página 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.
Página 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...
Página 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...
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.