The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Volume 2

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Derwent Coleridge
E. Moxon & Company, 1864
 

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Page 138 - 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. He always had a tale for me Of Julius Csesar, or of Venus ; From him I learnt the rule of three, Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and QUCE genus : I used to singe his powdered wig, To steal the staff he put such trust in, And make the puppy dance a jig, When he began to quote Augustine.
Page 334 - 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 : All heads must come To the cold tomb : Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
Page 92 - 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 167 - I THINK, whatever mortals crave, With impotent endeavour, — A wreath, a rank, a throne, a grave, — The world goes round for ever : I think that life is not too long ; And therefore I determine, That many people read a song Who will not read a sermon.
Page xv - But still the lady shook her head, And swore by yea and nay My Whole was all that he had said, And all that he could say.
Page 146 - twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she'd left her sparrows. She talked of politics or prayers,— Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets, Of danglers or of dancing bears, Of battles, or the last new bonnets; By candle-light, at twelve o'clock, To me it mattered not a tittle, If those bright lips had quoted Locke, I might have thought they murmured 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...
Page 207 - I'll say ; Indeed, I was half broken-hearted For a week, when they took you away. Fond fancy brought back to my slumbers Our walks on the Ness and the Den, And echoed the musical numbers Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over, 'T were idle, or worse, to recall ; I know you're a terrible rover ; But Clarence, you'll come to our Ball...
Page 145 - YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams Had been of being wise or witty; Ere I had done with writing themes, Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty...
Page 183 - tis over! Gay dwellings no longer are gay; The courtier, the gambler, the lover, Are scattered like swallows away; There's nobody left to invite one, Except my good uncle and spouse; My mistress is bathing at Brighton, My patron is sailing at Cowes; For want of a better employment, Till Ponto and Don can get out, I'll cultivate rural enjoyment, And angle immensely for trout.
Page 379 - I REMEMBER — I remember How my childhood fleeted by, — The mirth of its December, And the warmth of its July ; On my brow, love — on my brow, love, There are no signs of care ; But my pleasures are not now, love, "What Childhood's pleasures were.

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