The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed

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p. 31 The Red Fisherman poem (1827)-amazing.

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Page 201 - Alack the change ! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled: The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees 1 climbed, the beds I rifled...
Page 164 - I think that friars and their hoods, Their doctrines and their maggots, Have lighted up too many feuds, And far too many faggots ; I think while zealots fast and frown, And fight for two or seven, That there are fifty roads to town, And rather more to Heaven.
Page 199 - Uprose the Reverend Dr. Brown, Uprose the Doctor's winsome marrow; The lady laid her knitting down, Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow; Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, Pundit or Papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed, And welcome for himself, and dinner. If, when he reached his journey's end, And...
Page 37 - ... Till thou wilt gather roses white To wear around its gems of light. Smile, lady, smile ! — I will not see Rivers and Hastings bend the knee, Till those bewitching lips of thine Will bid me rise in bliss from mine. Smile, lady, smile ! — for who would win A loveless throne through guilt and sin, Or who would reign o'er vale and hill, If woman's heart were rebel still...
Page 220 - 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...
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 199 - It passed from Mahomet to Moses : Beginning with the laws which keep The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep For dressing eels, or shoeing horses.
Page 230 - Miss Manners, who always abused you For talking so much about Hock, And her sister, who often amused you By raving of rebels and Rock; And something which surely would answer, An heiress quite fresh from Bengal ; So, though you were seldom a dancer, You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball.
Page 33 - The Abbot was weary as abbot could be, And he sat down to rest on the stump of a tree: When suddenly rose a dismal tone — Was it a song, or was it a moan ? "Oho!
Page 207 - She sketched; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading : She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading: She warbled Handel; it was grand; She made the Catalan! jealous: She touched the organ ; I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows.

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