Golden Leaves from the British PoetsBunce and Huntington, 1866 - 546 pages |
From inside the book
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Page 40
... sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead , dead ere his prime , Young Lycidas , and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Hims 40 GOLDEN LEAVES . JOHN MILTON Lycidas.
... sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead , dead ere his prime , Young Lycidas , and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Hims 40 GOLDEN LEAVES . JOHN MILTON Lycidas.
Page 41
John William Stanhope Hows. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Hims if to sing , and build the lofty rhyme . He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept , and welter to the parching wind , Without the meed of some melodious tear ...
John William Stanhope Hows. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Hims if to sing , and build the lofty rhyme . He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept , and welter to the parching wind , Without the meed of some melodious tear ...
Page 43
... knew not of his story ; And sage Hippotadés their answer brings , That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm , and on the level brine Sleek Panopé with all her sisters play'd . It was that fatal and perfidious bark ...
... knew not of his story ; And sage Hippotadés their answer brings , That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm , and on the level brine Sleek Panopé with all her sisters play'd . It was that fatal and perfidious bark ...
Page 80
... knew too well , My love , my life , said I , explain This change of humour ; prithee tell That falling tear - what does it mean ? She sigh'd , she smiled ; and to the flowers Pointing , the lovely mor❜list said , See , friend , in some ...
... knew too well , My love , my life , said I , explain This change of humour ; prithee tell That falling tear - what does it mean ? She sigh'd , she smiled ; and to the flowers Pointing , the lovely mor❜list said , See , friend , in some ...
Page 81
... knew : He that with judgment reads his charming lines , In which strong art with stronger nature joins , Must grant his fancy does the best excel ; His thoughts so tender , and express'd so well : With all those moderns , men of steady ...
... knew : He that with judgment reads his charming lines , In which strong art with stronger nature joins , Must grant his fancy does the best excel ; His thoughts so tender , and express'd so well : With all those moderns , men of steady ...
Contents
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Common terms and phrases
art thou beauty beneath blessed blood blow bosom bower breast breath bright brow charm cheek cloud cowslips Cutty-sark dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth eyes face fair falchion fear flowers frae gaze gentle golden grace grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre holy hour king kiss lady land land of mist light lips live Lochaber Locksley Hall look Lord loud Lycidas lyre maid Marmion merry moon morn mother Muse ne'er never night nymph o'er pale passion pride Rory O'More rose round shade sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm sweet tale tears tell tempest thee thine thou art thought Tis green Twas voice wandering wave weary weep wild wind wing young youth
Popular passages
Page 358 - Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
Page 99 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! ODE TO MERCY.
Page 19 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Page 224 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Page 36 - Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Page 103 - E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn...
Page 123 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place...
Page 40 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Page 100 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 223 - The Sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners...