The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Nineteenth CenturyTilt and Bogue, 1841 - 344 strani |
Iz vsebine knjige
Zadetki 1–5 od 17
Stran xii
... Harp . By Alaric A. Watts Consumption . By J. G. Percival To the Author of the " Sorrows of Rosalie . " By Miss Landon On the Funeral of Charles the First , at Night , in St. George's Chapel , Windsor . By the Rev. W. L. Bowles The ...
... Harp . By Alaric A. Watts Consumption . By J. G. Percival To the Author of the " Sorrows of Rosalie . " By Miss Landon On the Funeral of Charles the First , at Night , in St. George's Chapel , Windsor . By the Rev. W. L. Bowles The ...
Stran 38
... harp just fit to pour Its music to the wind and wave ; He had a right to tell their fame Who stood himself amid the brave . The first time that I read his strain There was a tempest in the sky , And sulphurous clouds , and thunder crash ...
... harp just fit to pour Its music to the wind and wave ; He had a right to tell their fame Who stood himself amid the brave . The first time that I read his strain There was a tempest in the sky , And sulphurous clouds , and thunder crash ...
Stran 40
... Harp , whose song Flowed freely , wildly , as the wind That bore him and his harp along ? That fate which waits the gifted one , To pine , each finer impulse checked ; At length to sink , and die beneath The shade and silence of neglect ...
... Harp , whose song Flowed freely , wildly , as the wind That bore him and his harp along ? That fate which waits the gifted one , To pine , each finer impulse checked ; At length to sink , and die beneath The shade and silence of neglect ...
Stran 56
... harp , -for me To praise , were only mockery ; The tribute I offer is such a one , As the young bird would pour if the sun Or the air were pleasant : thanks , not praise , - Oh , not to laud , but to feel thy lays ! THE BURIAL OF SIR ...
... harp , -for me To praise , were only mockery ; The tribute I offer is such a one , As the young bird would pour if the sun Or the air were pleasant : thanks , not praise , - Oh , not to laud , but to feel thy lays ! THE BURIAL OF SIR ...
Stran 69
... HARP . BY ALARIC A. WATTS . Methinks it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this , Where even the breezes and the common air Contain the power and spirit of harmony . - COLERIDGE . 69 HARP of the winds ...
... HARP . BY ALARIC A. WATTS . Methinks it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this , Where even the breezes and the common air Contain the power and spirit of harmony . - COLERIDGE . 69 HARP of the winds ...
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Druge izdaje - Prikaži vse
Pogosti izrazi in povedi
ALARIC beams beauty Behave yoursel beneath billows bird blessed blue bosom bower breast breath bright bright eyes brow calm charm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep doth dream e'en earth EAST INDIAMAN fair fame feeling Fireside fled flowers gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave grief harp hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour KIRKSTALL ABBEY land life's light lips lonely look LORD BYRON lute LYRE mirth morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale passion rose round Sappho shine shore SICILIAN VESPERS sigh silent skies sleep smile song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought tones Twas Valentine's day voice wave weep wild wind wings young youth
Priljubljeni odlomki
Stran 195 - ... tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth...
Stran 158 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror...
Stran 166 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Stran 60 - And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre.
Stran 195 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Stran 159 - They fought — like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun.
Stran 104 - O'er each fair sleeping brow, She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid ; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade.
Stran 163 - AND thou hast walked about, (how strange a story!) In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And Time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Stran 86 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Stran 278 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...