The Poetical Works of Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Volume 1Redfield, 1854 - 311 pages |
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Page 52
... pain Was camped that night on Bosworth plain- The cruel Duke of Glo'ster ! There was turning of keys , and creaking of locks , As he took forth a bait from his iron box . It was a haunch of princely size , Filling with fragrance earth ...
... pain Was camped that night on Bosworth plain- The cruel Duke of Glo'ster ! There was turning of keys , and creaking of locks , As he took forth a bait from his iron box . It was a haunch of princely size , Filling with fragrance earth ...
Page 59
... pain to hear , and pleasure , So strangely wrath and love were blended In every tone of the mystic measure . " I know thee , child of earth ; The morning of thy birth In through the lattice did my chariot glide ; I saw thy father weep ...
... pain to hear , and pleasure , So strangely wrath and love were blended In every tone of the mystic measure . " I know thee , child of earth ; The morning of thy birth In through the lattice did my chariot glide ; I saw thy father weep ...
Page 64
... pain Of being loved , and loving . Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy , And always blind , and often tipsy ; Sometimes , for years and years together , She'll bless you with the sunniest weather , Bestowing honor , pudding , pence , You can ...
... pain Of being loved , and loving . Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy , And always blind , and often tipsy ; Sometimes , for years and years together , She'll bless you with the sunniest weather , Bestowing honor , pudding , pence , You can ...
Page 69
... pain : There are furrows on his brow , I must make it smooth again . " Lo , I knock the spurs away ; Lo , I loosen belt and brand ; Hark ! I hear the courser neigh For his stall in Fairy - land . " Bring the cap , and bring the vest ...
... pain : There are furrows on his brow , I must make it smooth again . " Lo , I knock the spurs away ; Lo , I loosen belt and brand ; Hark ! I hear the courser neigh For his stall in Fairy - land . " Bring the cap , and bring the vest ...
Page 75
... pain in heart , and four - in - hand ; And village maids , with looks of wo , Turned out their mourning , and their toe . The bell was rung , the hymn was sung , On the oak chest the dust was flung ; And then , beneath the chapel ...
... pain in heart , and four - in - hand ; And village maids , with looks of wo , Turned out their mourning , and their toe . The bell was rung , the hymn was sung , On the oak chest the dust was flung ; And then , beneath the chapel ...
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Common terms and phrases
Abbess abbot Athens beauty beneath bliss blue bower breath bright brow charm cheek clasp cold Count Otto courser dance dark Digore dragon dream earth eyes faded fair falchion fame fat friars father fear flings flowers fond frown Fustian Hall gaze glance glow gout grave grief hair hand hath hear heard heart heaven hope hour John Moultrie kiss kneeled lady laugh light lips lonely look Lord lover Lurley lute maid maiden minstrel Muse never night Nonny numbers nymph o'er pain pale passion Peyrouse pray prayer quadrille rock rose sigh silent sing Sir Isumbras sleep smile song sorrow soul spell sweet talked tears tell thee thine thou thought to-day to-night toil tone TRINITY COLLEGE Troubadour Twas Vidal voice waking eye wander wave weary ween weep wild WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED young youth
Popular passages
Page 132 - His talk was like a stream which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses; It slipped from politics to puns; 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 134 - And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage : 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.
Page 182 - No!' If he wears a top-boot in his wooing, If he comes to you riding a cob, If he talks of his baking or brewing, If he puts up his feet on the hob, If he ever drinks port after dinner, If his brow or his breeding is low, If he calls himself 'Thompson' or 'Skinner', My own Araminta, say 'No!
Page 184 - No!" He must walk like a god of old story, Come down from the home of his rest; He must smile like the sun in his glory, On the buds he loves ever the best ; And, oh ! from its ivory portal, Like music his soft speech must flow ! — If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal, My own Araminta, say "No!
Page 183 - If he does not call Werther delicious;— My own Araminta, say 'No!' If he ever sets foot in the City Among the stockbrokers and Jews, If he has not a heart full of pity, If he don't stand six feet in his shoes, If his lips are not redder than roses, If his hands are not whiter than snow, If he has not the model of noses— My own Araminta, say 'No!
Page 140 - My father frowned; but how should gout See any happiness in kneeling? She was the daughter of a dean, Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; She had one brother just thirteen, Whose color was extremely hectic; Her grandmother, for many a year, Had fed the parish with her bounty; Her second cousin was a peer, And lord-lieutenant of the county.
Page 209 - I'll make a shift to drain it, ere I part with boot and buff; Though Guy through many a gaping wound is breathing out his life, And I come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful wife! " Sweet! we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship for France, And mourn in merry Paris for this poor...
Page 134 - Alack the change! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled,— The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled...
Page 131 - Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste, And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way, between St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket, Was always shown across the green, And guided to the Parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath; Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path, Through...
Page 54 - As he took forth a bait from his iron box. It was a bundle of beautiful things, A peacock's tail, and a butterfly's wings, A scarlet slipper, an auburn curl, A mantle of silk, and a bracelet of pearl, And a packet of letters, from whose sweet fold Such a stream of delicate odours rolled, That the abbot fell on his face, and fainted, And deemed his spirit was half-way sainted.