Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets: With an Introductory Essay, Band 3

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Seite 297 - Whence are thy beams, O sun ! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty ; the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone; who can be a companion of thy course?
Seite 146 - Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year...
Seite 146 - O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird...
Seite 145 - WEEP ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: But weep sore for him that goeth away : For he shall return no more, Nor see his native country.
Seite 201 - Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Seite 120 - And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures, While round my knees they fondly clung! To see them look their mother's features, To hear them lisp their mother's tongue! And when with envy time transported Shall think to rob us of our joys, You'll in your girls again be courted, And I'll go wooing in my boys.
Seite 305 - E'en from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; And if so fair, from vanity as free, As firm in friendship, and as fond in love, — Tell them...
Seite 53 - Brutes find out where their talents lie : A bear will not attempt to fly ; A founder'd horse will oft debate, Before he tries a five-barr'd gate; A dog by instinct turns aside, Who sees the ditch too deep and wide.
Seite 305 - Take, holy earth ! all that my soul holds dear: Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave : To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form : she bow'd to taste the wave, And died.
Seite 97 - Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable And His softest bed was hay.

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