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Strana 15 - Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. And Phoebus gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet arise ; Arise, arise ! Clo.
Strana 124 - Hence these shades Are still the abodes of gladness ; the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while below The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily.
Strana 234 - ... and walk to some neighbouring wood, accompanied with music and the blowing of horns, where they broke down branches from the trees and adorned them with nosegays and crowns of flowers. This done, they returned...
Strana 197 - Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
Strana 181 - Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight : With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Strana 110 - Which strike ev'n eyes incurious ; but each moss, Each shell, each crawling insect holds a rank Important in the plan of Him, who fram'd This scale of beings ; holds a rank, which lost Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap Which nature's self would rue.
Strana 197 - Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD! Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Strana 150 - Lotophagi) which whoso tastes, Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts, Nor other home nor other care intends, But quits his house, his country, and his friends: The three we sent, from off th...
Strana 197 - Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! Thou, too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, — Thou too again, stupendous Mountain ! thou...