The poems of winthrop mackworth praed revised and complete edition.

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Page 140 - 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 149 - Our love was like most other loves — A little glow, a little shiver, A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And " Fly Not Yet " upon the river ; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows ; and then we parted.
Page 139 - He was a shrewd and sound Divine, Of loud Dissent the mortal terror ; And when, by dint of page and line, He 'stablished Truth, or startled Error, The Baptist found him far too deep, The Deist sighed with saving sorrow, And the lean Levite went to sleep, And dreamed of tasting pork to-morrow.
Page 148 - 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 -Catalani jealous : She touched the organ; I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows.
Page 97 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Page 194 - Remember the thrilling romances We read on the bank in the glen ; Remember the suitors our fancies Would picture for both of us then. They wore the red cross on their shoulder, They had vanquished and pardoned their foe — Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder ? My own Araminta, say 'No!
Page 201 - Ball. I've often been out upon Haldon To look for a covey with pup; I've often been over to Shaldon, To see how your boat is laid up: In spite of the terrors of Aunty, I've ridden the filly you broke; And I've studied your sweet little Dante In the shade of your favourite oak: When I sat in July to Sir Lawrence, I sat in your love of a shawl; And I'll wear what you brought me from Florence, Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball.
Page 193 - SOU tell me you're promised a lover, My own Araminta, next week ; Why cannot my fancy discover The hue of his coat and his cheek? Alas ! if he look like another, A vicar, a banker, a beau, Be deaf to your father and mother, My own Araminta, say
Page 147 - Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal.
Page 222 - 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.

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