The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth CenturyJ. Sharpe, 1830 - 360 páginas |
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Página xv
... Grave . By D. M. Moir The Return of Francis the First from Captivity . By Miss Jewsbury The Graves of a Household . By Mrs. Hemans The Poet's Bridal Song . By Allan Cunningham A Storm . By Barry Cornwall • Envoy to the Author's ...
... Grave . By D. M. Moir The Return of Francis the First from Captivity . By Miss Jewsbury The Graves of a Household . By Mrs. Hemans The Poet's Bridal Song . By Allan Cunningham A Storm . By Barry Cornwall • Envoy to the Author's ...
Página xvii
... Grave 196 On a Picture 197 • The Close of Autumn . By W. C. Bryant 198 Lines on a Skull • 200 My Birthday . By Thomas Moore 201 Lord Byron's last Verses 203 The Convict Ship . By T. K. Hervey 204 · The Ship at Sea . By John Malcolm 206 ...
... Grave 196 On a Picture 197 • The Close of Autumn . By W. C. Bryant 198 Lines on a Skull • 200 My Birthday . By Thomas Moore 201 Lord Byron's last Verses 203 The Convict Ship . By T. K. Hervey 204 · The Ship at Sea . By John Malcolm 206 ...
Página xix
... Grave of Korner . By Mrs. Hemans Song . By Hartley Coleridge Prince William of England · Page 282 283 284 286 • 288 290 291 • 292 294 294 A Lament for Chivalry The Fisher . • Song of a Greek Islander in Exile . By Mrs. Hemans Saturday ...
... Grave of Korner . By Mrs. Hemans Song . By Hartley Coleridge Prince William of England · Page 282 283 284 286 • 288 290 291 • 292 294 294 A Lament for Chivalry The Fisher . • Song of a Greek Islander in Exile . By Mrs. Hemans Saturday ...
Página 5
... grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; Or , art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both of soul and sense Awoke by ...
... grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; Or , art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both of soul and sense Awoke by ...
Página 7
... wrought . Night is the time to weep ; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory where sleep The joys of other years ; NIGHT . Hopes that were angels in their birth , TO A SLEEPING CHILD . Night By James Montgomery.
... wrought . Night is the time to weep ; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory where sleep The joys of other years ; NIGHT . Hopes that were angels in their birth , TO A SLEEPING CHILD . Night By James Montgomery.
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Palavras e frases frequentes
ALARIC beauty beneath billows bird bless'd blue bosom bower breast breath bright bright eyes brow calm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep dream e'en earth EAST INDIAMAN EOLIAN faded fair fame feeling flowers forget gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave green grief hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour land life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute LYRE moon morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale pass'd rest rose round Sappho seem'd shade shine shore SICILIAN VESPERS sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought turn'd Twas Valentine's day voice waking eye wave weep wild winds wings young youth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 197 - 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 the lovely ones again.
Página 59 - 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.
Página 197 - The wind'flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade and glen.
Página 284 - 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...
Página 57 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Página 23 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Página 61 - Bartholomew," was passed from man to man, But out spake gentle Henry "No Frenchman is my foe. Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go...
Página 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.
Página 167 - O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder...
Página 58 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.