The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry, Svazek 2Alaric Alexander Watts Hurst, Chance, and Company, 1829 |
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Výsledky 1-5 z 88
Strana 5
... hath made ! Or , dainned to fame , like Babylon to scowl O'er wastes where serpents hiss , hyænas howl . Forge then the links of martial law , that bind , Enslave , imbrute , and mechanise the mind ; Indite thy conscript code with iron ...
... hath made ! Or , dainned to fame , like Babylon to scowl O'er wastes where serpents hiss , hyænas howl . Forge then the links of martial law , that bind , Enslave , imbrute , and mechanise the mind ; Indite thy conscript code with iron ...
Strana 7
... hath done , Than whole campaigns beneath a southern`sun . Spoiled Child of Fortune ! could the murdered Turk , Or wronged Iberian view thy ghastly work , They'd sheathe the ' vengeful blade , and clearly see France needs no deadlier ...
... hath done , Than whole campaigns beneath a southern`sun . Spoiled Child of Fortune ! could the murdered Turk , Or wronged Iberian view thy ghastly work , They'd sheathe the ' vengeful blade , and clearly see France needs no deadlier ...
Strana 8
... hath conquered fear ! Canst thou be brave ? whose dying prospects show A scene of all that's horrible in woe ! On whose ambition , long by carnage nursed , Death stamps the greatest change — the last , the worst ! Death ! -to thy view ...
... hath conquered fear ! Canst thou be brave ? whose dying prospects show A scene of all that's horrible in woe ! On whose ambition , long by carnage nursed , Death stamps the greatest change — the last , the worst ! Death ! -to thy view ...
Strana 10
... hath understood That nothing can be great that is not good . And when remorse , for blood in torrents spilt , Shall sting - to madness - conscious , sleepless guilt , May deep contrition this black hope repel , — Snatch me , thou future ...
... hath understood That nothing can be great that is not good . And when remorse , for blood in torrents spilt , Shall sting - to madness - conscious , sleepless guilt , May deep contrition this black hope repel , — Snatch me , thou future ...
Strana 13
... Hath seared my trusting heart since then ! What clouds of blight , consuming slow The springs that life sustain , — Have o'er my world - vexed spirit past , Sweet Kirkstall , since I saw thee last ! How bright is every scene beheld In ...
... Hath seared my trusting heart since then ! What clouds of blight , consuming slow The springs that life sustain , — Have o'er my world - vexed spirit past , Sweet Kirkstall , since I saw thee last ! How bright is every scene beheld In ...
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art thou beauty Behave yoursel beneath Blackwood's Magazine blest bloom blue bosom bower breast breath bright brow calm charms cheek child clouds cold dark dear death deep dream earth fading fair farewell fear flame flowers Gaul gaze gentle gleam gloom glow Godiva gondolier grave green grief Harebells hath heart heaven hope hour hyæna J. G. LOCKHART JAMES HOGG JOHN MOULTRIE life's light lips Literary Souvenir lonely look LORD BYRON lyre mirth mourn ne'er neath never night o'er Olmutz pale PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY rapture rock round scene Scottish lassie shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep slumber smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit star stream sweet tears tell thee thine THOMAS DOUBLEDAY thou art thou hast thou wert thought throne tomb trembling voice wandering wave weep wild wind wing youth
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Strana 22 - THE SISTERS. BY ALARIC A. WATTS. They grew together Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : So with two seeming bodies, but one heart. I SAW them when their bud of life Was slowly opening into flower, Before a cloud of care or strife
Strana 195 - press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring ? Ay, where are they ? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too; While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows,
Strana 73 - whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may— For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll: And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul ? Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, And hope without an object cannot live. HART S WELL,
Strana 73 - WORK WITHOUT HOPE. LINES COMPOSED ON A DAY IN FEBRUARY. BY ST COLERIDGE, ESQ. ALL nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair— The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing— And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Strana 249 - Not there, not there, my child!" " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?— Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the hreeze, And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" —
Strana 80 - dark and high; I used to think their slender spires Were close against the sky! It was a childish ignorance,— But now 'tis little joy To know I 'm further off from heaven, Than when I was a boy!
Strana 201 - That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates, Nor wild Malwah detain, For sweet the bliss us both awaits, By yonder western main. Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, Across the dark blue sea; But ne'er were hearts so light and gay, As then shall meet in thee! DOMESTIC LOVE. DOMESTIC Love! not in proud palace
Strana 137 - To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste— Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, On earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his immortality, Or shake his trust in God ! SONG.
Strana 172 - ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! 0 Youth! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known that thou and I were one— I 'll think it but a fond conceit; It cannot be that thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet
Strana 135 - is Mercy bids thee go, For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day: