The Poets and Poetry of England: In the Nineteenth CenturyRufus Wilmot Griswold |
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Page 8
... Tree WILLIAM HERBERT 92 Hymn to Death 92 Actius the Unbeliever Woman 93 Farewell Washington 96 The Dead Friend 96 SIR HUMPHRY DAVY The Battle of Blenheim 97 The Tempest Remembrance 97 Fontainebleau . Roderick in Battle . 98 Written ...
... Tree WILLIAM HERBERT 92 Hymn to Death 92 Actius the Unbeliever Woman 93 Farewell Washington 96 The Dead Friend 96 SIR HUMPHRY DAVY The Battle of Blenheim 97 The Tempest Remembrance 97 Fontainebleau . Roderick in Battle . 98 Written ...
Page 25
... tree upshoots amid the glade Its trembling top ; and there upon the bank They rest them , while the heart o'erflows with joy . Now evening , breathing richer odours sweet , Came down : a softer sound the circling seas , The ancient ...
... tree upshoots amid the glade Its trembling top ; and there upon the bank They rest them , while the heart o'erflows with joy . Now evening , breathing richer odours sweet , Came down : a softer sound the circling seas , The ancient ...
Page 26
... tree That fann'd its joyous leaves above thy head , Where love had deck'd the blooming bower , and strew'd The sweets of summer : Death is on thy cheek , And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns Of him , who , agonized and ...
... tree That fann'd its joyous leaves above thy head , Where love had deck'd the blooming bower , and strew'd The sweets of summer : Death is on thy cheek , And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns Of him , who , agonized and ...
Page 35
... tree That with its branches overhangs the stream , And , like an acorn , drops on deck again . ' Tis he who speaks not , stirs not , but we laugh ; That child of fun and frolic , Arlecchino . At length we leave the river for the sea ...
... tree That with its branches overhangs the stream , And , like an acorn , drops on deck again . ' Tis he who speaks not , stirs not , but we laugh ; That child of fun and frolic , Arlecchino . At length we leave the river for the sea ...
Page 54
... tree boughs , To which , on some unruffled morning , clings A flaky weight of winter's purest snows ! Behold ! as with a gushing impulse heaves That downy prow , and softly cleaves The mirror of the crystal flood , Vanish inverted hill ...
... tree boughs , To which , on some unruffled morning , clings A flaky weight of winter's purest snows ! Behold ! as with a gushing impulse heaves That downy prow , and softly cleaves The mirror of the crystal flood , Vanish inverted hill ...
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art thou beauty beneath blood bosom bower breast breath bright brow calm Catiline cheek child clouds Clusium cold dark dead dear death deep delight dread dream e'en earth eyes fair falchion fancy fear feel flowers gaze gentle gloom glory grave green grief hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour John of Procida Lady of Shalott land Lars Porsena life's light lips living lone look look'd Lord LORD BYRON lyre moon morning mountain ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd poems poet rapture rill rose round Samian wine Scotland seem'd shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit stars storm stream sweet tears tempest thee thine things thou art thought tomb tree turn'd Twas vex'd voice waves weary ween weep wild wind wings youth
Popular passages
Page 51 - I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 188 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile; In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown ; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Page 58 - MILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou...
Page 228 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more...
Page 308 - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Page 91 - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! — To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!
Page 68 - She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, " Now tread we a measure,
Page 304 - Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'da splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven: — Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
Page 57 - O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest — Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us,...
Page 235 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.