The Inspiration of Poetry

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Macmillan, 1910 - Počet stran: 232
 

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Strana 128 - Windsor's heights the expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way...
Strana 53 - If all the pens that ever poets held Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts, And every sweetness that inspired their hearts, Their minds and muses on admired themes; If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein as in a mirror we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit; If these had made one poem's period...
Strana 95 - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his...
Strana 85 - The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.
Strana 95 - tis haunted, holy ground ; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon...
Strana 86 - A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds Of fiery climes he made himself a home, And his soul drank their sunbeams ; he was girt With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not Himself like what he had been : on the sea And on the shore he was a wanderer ! There was a mass of many image?
Strana 127 - Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait ! Amazement in his van, with flight combined, And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Strana 129 - Awake, /Eolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take ; The laughing flowers, that round them blow, Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres...
Strana 131 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Strana 96 - Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here ! Come — but molest not yon defenceless urn : Look on this spot — .a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield — religions take their turn : Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — 'and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.

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