Festival of Song: A Series of Evenings with the Poets |
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Page 29
From Cymbeline :Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings , And Phæbus ' gins
arise , His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced Aowers that lies ; And
winking mary - buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty
...
From Cymbeline :Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings , And Phæbus ' gins
arise , His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced Aowers that lies ; And
winking mary - buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty
...
Page 32
... almost unexplored wealth of thought and imagery which cluster the pages of
this magician of the pen , we yet must pass on to some of his contemporaries :“
Those shining stars that run Their glorious course round Shakspeare's golden
sun .
... almost unexplored wealth of thought and imagery which cluster the pages of
this magician of the pen , we yet must pass on to some of his contemporaries :“
Those shining stars that run Their glorious course round Shakspeare's golden
sun .
Page 36
Nymphs that dwell within these groves , Leave your arbours , bring your loves ,
Gather posies , crown your golden hair with roses : As you pass , Foot like Fairies
on the grass . * What stateliness and vigor of expression characterize his ...
Nymphs that dwell within these groves , Leave your arbours , bring your loves ,
Gather posies , crown your golden hair with roses : As you pass , Foot like Fairies
on the grass . * What stateliness and vigor of expression characterize his ...
Page 38
... Beauty , the eye's idol — but a damask skin ; State , but a golden prison to live
in And torture free - born minds , -embroidered trains , Merely but pageants for
proud swelling veins : And blood allied to greatness , is alone Inherited — 38.
... Beauty , the eye's idol — but a damask skin ; State , but a golden prison to live
in And torture free - born minds , -embroidered trains , Merely but pageants for
proud swelling veins : And blood allied to greatness , is alone Inherited — 38.
Page 62
Beautifully has he been likened to the bird of Paradise , which , Aying against the
wind , best displays the splendour of its golden plumage ; so the bard of Paradise
, in his sublime excursions amid the beings of light , bursts upon us with a ...
Beautifully has he been likened to the bird of Paradise , which , Aying against the
wind , best displays the splendour of its golden plumage ; so the bard of Paradise
, in his sublime excursions amid the beings of light , bursts upon us with a ...
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A Festival of Song: A Series of Evenings with the Greatest Poets of the ... Frederick Saunders No preview available - 2015 |
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Common terms and phrases
angels Aowers beautiful bells bird breath bright charm child close clouds comes dark dead dear death deep delight doth dream earth eyes face fair fall fear feel field flowers gentle give glory glow golden grace grave green growing hand happy hath head hear heart heaven hope hour human kiss leaves light lines live look memory mind morning nature never night o'er once pass passage play pleasure poem poet poetry rest rich rose round seems seen shine sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit Spring stanzas stars stream summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought touching trees turn voice wandering wave wild wind wings woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 69 - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
Page 68 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Page 39 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 276 - Like a poet hidden, In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Page 21 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of?
Page 274 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 135 - He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Page 31 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments : love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O no ; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 63 - The Oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 220 - Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Bibliographic information
| Title | Festival of Song: A Series of Evenings with the Poets |
| Author | Frederick Saunders |
| Publisher | Bunce and Huntington, 1866 |
| Original from | the New York Public Library |
| Digitized | 23 Nov 2006 |
| Length | 376 pages |
| Export Citation | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |