New elegant extracts; a selection from the most eminent British poets and poetical translators, by R.A. Davenport, Volume 4 |
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Page 9
... hear the blast come whistling from afar , I see the tempest gathering in the skies . Yet let the tempest roar ! -love scorns all harms , I plunge amid the storm , resolved to save ; This hour , at least , I clasp thee in my arms , The ...
... hear the blast come whistling from afar , I see the tempest gathering in the skies . Yet let the tempest roar ! -love scorns all harms , I plunge amid the storm , resolved to save ; This hour , at least , I clasp thee in my arms , The ...
Page 17
... hear the music of the grove resound . I'll seek some lonely church or dreary hall , Where Fancy paints the glimmering taper blue , Where damps hang mouldering on the ivied wall , And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew : There ...
... hear the music of the grove resound . I'll seek some lonely church or dreary hall , Where Fancy paints the glimmering taper blue , Where damps hang mouldering on the ivied wall , And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew : There ...
Page 22
... hear my pain , Like the proud rocks which brave the ' unwearied main ? eye ? Sooner the shipwreck'd pilot shall appease With sighs the howling winds , with tears the seas , Than Laura's prayers thy heart unfeeling move , O lost to fame ...
... hear my pain , Like the proud rocks which brave the ' unwearied main ? eye ? Sooner the shipwreck'd pilot shall appease With sighs the howling winds , with tears the seas , Than Laura's prayers thy heart unfeeling move , O lost to fame ...
Page 24
... hear I not for me yon passing bell Toll forth , with frequent pause , its sullen knell ? Waits not for me yon sexton on his spade , Blithe whistling o'er the grave his toil has made ? Say why in lengthen'd pomp yon sable train , With 24 ...
... hear I not for me yon passing bell Toll forth , with frequent pause , its sullen knell ? Waits not for me yon sexton on his spade , Blithe whistling o'er the grave his toil has made ? Say why in lengthen'd pomp yon sable train , With 24 ...
Page 25
... hear the Lover and the Friend . Fear not the poet's flattering strain , No idle praise my verse shall stain ; The lowly numbers shall impart The faithful dictates of my heart , Nor humble modesty offend , And part the Lover from the ...
... hear the Lover and the Friend . Fear not the poet's flattering strain , No idle praise my verse shall stain ; The lowly numbers shall impart The faithful dictates of my heart , Nor humble modesty offend , And part the Lover from the ...
Common terms and phrases
adieu beams beauty beguile beneath bless bless'd bliss bloom bosom cold bower breast breath bright CHARLOTTE SMITH charm cheek cheer dark dear death despair dream e'er ELEGY eyes fade fair Fair city Fancy farewell fate feel flame flowers fond gale gay nature gentle gloom glow grace grave grief grove hast hear heart Heaven honours hope HOTWELLS hour hour of victory life's lips lonely LORD BYRON love restore love's Lover Lycidas lyre Maid with bosom mind Monody morn mourn Muse Naiad ne'er night nymph o'er pain pale pangs pass'd peace pity pride rapture rill rise round scenes scorn shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song soothe sorrows soul spring strain stream sweet tear tempest tender thee thine thou thought tomb Twas vale virtue voice wake wandering wave weep wild winds youth
Popular passages
Page 170 - Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
Page 193 - Ay me, I fondly dream, Had ye been there! — for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Page 172 - Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Page 195 - Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths!
Page 198 - Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Page 197 - Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold ; Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Page 197 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Page 193 - O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the Woods, and desert Caves, With wild Thyme and the gadding Vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn. The Willows, and the Hazel Copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft lays.
Page 170 - Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, So thou, with sails how swift, hast reached the shore 'Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,' And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Page 126 - Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards ; Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords.