The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Volume 2W.J. Widdleton, 1865 |
From inside the book
Page 22
... lute , in courtly throng , Where Beauty smiles upon the song . Of artful wiles against his foe Nothing he knows , or cares to know ; Far less he recks of polished arts , The batteries in the siege of hearts . And hence the minions of ...
... lute , in courtly throng , Where Beauty smiles upon the song . Of artful wiles against his foe Nothing he knows , or cares to know ; Far less he recks of polished arts , The batteries in the siege of hearts . And hence the minions of ...
Page 160
... lute ; And patriot hands shall sound applause , And lovely lips be mute . Go , dig the diamond from the wave , The treasure from the mine ; Enjoy the wreath , the gold , the grave , - No woman's heart is thine ! " I charm thee from the ...
... lute ; And patriot hands shall sound applause , And lovely lips be mute . Go , dig the diamond from the wave , The treasure from the mine ; Enjoy the wreath , the gold , the grave , - No woman's heart is thine ! " I charm thee from the ...
Page 175
... lute and the lay , The lute and the lay are thine only , My fairest , on Valentine's Day . For thee I have opened my Blackstone , For thee I have shut up myself ; Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton , And laid my short whist on the ...
... lute and the lay , The lute and the lay are thine only , My fairest , on Valentine's Day . For thee I have opened my Blackstone , For thee I have shut up myself ; Exchanged my long curls for a Caxton , And laid my short whist on the ...
Page 216
... lute are broken here— I'm not a lover now ! Lady , the mist is on my sight , The chill is on my brow , My day is night , my bloom is blight , I'm not a lover now ! ( 1826. ) UTOPIA . - " I can dream , sir , 216 PALINODIA .
... lute are broken here— I'm not a lover now ! Lady , the mist is on my sight , The chill is on my brow , My day is night , my bloom is blight , I'm not a lover now ! ( 1826. ) UTOPIA . - " I can dream , sir , 216 PALINODIA .
Page 217
... lutes In passion - haunted bowers . I clambered up a lofty rock , And did not find it steep ; I read through a page and a half of Locke , And did not fall asleep ; I said whate'er I may but feel , I paid whate'er I owe ; VOL . II . - 10 ...
... lutes In passion - haunted bowers . I clambered up a lofty rock , And did not find it steep ; I read through a page and a half of Locke , And did not fall asleep ; I said whate'er I may but feel , I paid whate'er I owe ; VOL . II . - 10 ...
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Common terms and phrases
Araminta Athens Ball beam beauteous beauty beneath bliss bloom blush Boodle's bowers breast breath bright brow charming cheek cold dance dark dear death dream E'en earth Epigrams Eton eyes faded fair falchion fame fancy fear FEBRUARY 14 feel filly flowers folly fond fool forget friends frown gaze glance gone gout grace grave grief hair hand hath haunted ground heart Heaven hope hour Lady laugh Laura light lips lonely look Lord lover lute lyre Marriage mirth Muse never night nymph o'er pain palæstra pale Peyrouse pray quadrille rapture rhyme rose round royal sail shine sigh silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sweet tale talk tears tell thee thine thought throng to-day to-night tomb Valentine's Day voice wandering wave weep whispers whist young youth γὰρ δὲ ἐν καὶ τε τὸν
Popular passages
Page 328 - They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
Page 148 - She smiled on many just for fun ; I knew that there was nothing in it ; I was the first — the only — one Her heart had thought of for a minute : I knew it, for she told me so In phrase which was divinely moulded. She wrote a charming hand, and oh How sweetly all her notes were folded I Our love was like most other loves — A little glow, a little shiver, A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And
Page 140 - Alack, the change! In vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled; The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled. The church is larger than before, You reach it by a carriage entry: It holds three hundred people more, And pews are fitted up for gentry.
Page 147 - Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading : She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading : She warbled...
Page 146 - Heaven, her dancing ! Dark was her hair, her hand was white ; Her voice was exquisitely tender ; Her eyes were full of liquid light ; I never saw a waist so slender ! Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows ; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she'd left her sparrows.
Page 140 - And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage: At his approach complaint grew mild; And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter.
Page 196 - When I heard I was going abroad, love, I thought I was going to die; We walked arm in arm to the road, love, We looked arm in arm to the sky; And I said ' When a foreign postilion Has hurried me off to the Po, Forget not Medora Trevilian : My own Araminta, say
Page 226 - Pursuing every idle dream, And shunning every warning; With no hard work but Bovney stream, No chill except Long Morning: Now stopping Harry Vernon's ball That rattled like a rocket; Now hearing Wentworth's 'Fourteen all!' And striking for the pocket; Now feasting on a cheese and flitch, — Now drinking from the pewter; Now leaping over Chalvey ditch, Now laughing at my tutor. Where are my friends? I am alone; No playmate shares my beaker: Some...
Page 137 - SOME years ago, ere Time and Taste Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the Green, And guided to the Parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ; Fair Margaret in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through...
Page 226 - Where are my friends? I am alone; No playmate shares my beaker: Some lie beneath the churchyard stone, And some — before the Speaker; And some compose a tragedy, And some compose a rondo; And some draw sword for Liberty, And some draw pleas for John Doe. Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes Without the fear of sessions; Charles...