Poetic gems: partly original; but chiefly selected from the best authors: by S. BlackburnG. Dennis, 1833 - Всего страниц: 240 |
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Стр. 2
... quicken'd with its awe , My lip has gasp'd for breath ; But what were they to such as this- The solitude of death ! A single grave ! —we half forget How sunder human ties , When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred 2.
... quicken'd with its awe , My lip has gasp'd for breath ; But what were they to such as this- The solitude of death ! A single grave ! —we half forget How sunder human ties , When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred 2.
Стр. 3
Samuel BLACKBURN. When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred lies . We stand beneath the haunted yew , And watch each quiet tomb ; " And in the ancient churchyard feel Solemnity , not gloom : The place is purified with hope ...
Samuel BLACKBURN. When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred lies . We stand beneath the haunted yew , And watch each quiet tomb ; " And in the ancient churchyard feel Solemnity , not gloom : The place is purified with hope ...
Стр. 5
... round Maternal knees , to catch the welcome sound Of that dear voice that hush'd the infant fold ; Each listener gaz'd in wonder , as she told Of past events , from distant ages brought By rustic offices to present thought ; While ...
... round Maternal knees , to catch the welcome sound Of that dear voice that hush'd the infant fold ; Each listener gaz'd in wonder , as she told Of past events , from distant ages brought By rustic offices to present thought ; While ...
Стр. 6
Samuel BLACKBURN. A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure . In those days I found A top a joyous thing : But now those past delights I drop ; My head , alas ! is all my top , And careful thoughts the string . My marbles once my bag was ...
Samuel BLACKBURN. A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure . In those days I found A top a joyous thing : But now those past delights I drop ; My head , alas ! is all my top , And careful thoughts the string . My marbles once my bag was ...
Стр. 7
... ! Oh for the ribbon round the neck ! The careless dog's - ears apt to deck My book and collar both ! How can this formal man be styl'd Merely an Alexandrine child , A boy of larger growth ? Oh for that small , small beer anew ! And 7.
... ! Oh for the ribbon round the neck ! The careless dog's - ears apt to deck My book and collar both ! How can this formal man be styl'd Merely an Alexandrine child , A boy of larger growth ? Oh for that small , small beer anew ! And 7.
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Poetic Gems: Partly Original; But Chiefly Selected from the Best Authors: By ... Samuel Blackburn Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
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age to age Anon art thou beauty beneath blessed bliss bloom bosom breast breath bright Cambyses charm cheerful child clouds COLCHESTER cold cried crimson-tipped dark dead dear death delight dread E'en earth fair fancy father fear feel flowers gaz'd Gelert glory grave green grief hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour hush'd kiss kiss of love learned friend life's light lonely look look'd lov'd lyre morning mother mountain Nature's ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd paths of glory peace pleasure poor rill rock round scene seem'd seraph shade shadows roll shine sigh silent skies sleep slumber smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit stars stream sweet tears tell tempest Thebes thee thine thou thought to-morrow tomb tree truth Twas Twill voice wandering wild wind wings young youth
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Стр. 108 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and...
Стр. 72 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him...
Стр. 233 - The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever.
Стр. 111 - The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Стр. 142 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound : And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
Стр. 236 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Стр. 234 - THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of, Border chivalry; For, well-a-day!
Стр. 145 - MUMMY (AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION) Horace Smith And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago. When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Стр. 110 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Стр. 109 - The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...