Selections from the British Poets: Chronologically Arranged from Chaucer to the Present Time, Under Separate Divisions, with Introductions Explaining the Different Species of PoetryCommissioners of National Education in Ireland, 1851 - English poetry |
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Page 14
... hands bestow , And in the summer of thy favour grow . When thou contract'st thy clouded brows , they mourn , And dying , to their former dust return ; Again created by thy quick'ning breath , To re - supply the massacres of death . No ...
... hands bestow , And in the summer of thy favour grow . When thou contract'st thy clouded brows , they mourn , And dying , to their former dust return ; Again created by thy quick'ning breath , To re - supply the massacres of death . No ...
Page 20
... hand signs his release ? It is a storm - where the hot blood Outvies in rage the boiling flood ; And each loose passion of the mind Is like a furious gust of wind , Which beats his bark with many a wave , Till he casts anchor in the ...
... hand signs his release ? It is a storm - where the hot blood Outvies in rage the boiling flood ; And each loose passion of the mind Is like a furious gust of wind , Which beats his bark with many a wave , Till he casts anchor in the ...
Page 23
... hands have made , Fair copies of my life , and open laid To view , how soon they droop , how soon they fade ! Shade ... hand's - breadth ; ' tis a tale ; ' Tis a vessel under sail ; ' Tis an eagle in its way , Darting down upon its prey ...
... hands have made , Fair copies of my life , and open laid To view , how soon they droop , how soon they fade ! Shade ... hand's - breadth ; ' tis a tale ; ' Tis a vessel under sail ; ' Tis an eagle in its way , Darting down upon its prey ...
Page 25
... hand . My hand was next to them , and then my heart . I took , without more thinking , in good part , Time's gentle admonition : Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey , Making my mind to smell my fatal day , VOL . 1 . Yet sug'ring ...
... hand . My hand was next to them , and then my heart . I took , without more thinking , in good part , Time's gentle admonition : Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey , Making my mind to smell my fatal day , VOL . 1 . Yet sug'ring ...
Page 29
... hand ! How wilt thou hate thy wars , when he Who only for his hire did raise Thy counterfeit in stone , with thee Shall stand competitor , and be Perhaps thought worthier praise ! No laurel wreath about my brow ! To thee , my God , all ...
... hand ! How wilt thou hate thy wars , when he Who only for his hire did raise Thy counterfeit in stone , with thee Shall stand competitor , and be Perhaps thought worthier praise ! No laurel wreath about my brow ! To thee , my God , all ...
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Common terms and phrases
ALEXANDER POPE AMERICAN POETRY beauty beneath birds bless blest bliss bloom BORN bowers breast breath bright calm charms clouds dark death deep delight Descriptive Poetry DIED doth earth English Poetry eternal fair flowers gaze GILES FLETCHER gloom glorious glory glow grave green happy hast hath heart heaven hills hope hour HYMN JAMES THOMSON labour LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON life's light live look Lord MARK AKENSIDE mighty mind morning mortal mountain mourn murmur nature nature's night numbers o'er pastoral pastoral poetry peace pleasure poetry poets praise prayer rest rill rise ROBERT SOUTHEY round sacred scene shade shine sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul spirit spring stars stream sweet tears tempest thee THEOCRITUS thine things thou art thought toil trees trembling vale voice wave weary wild WILLIAM COWPER WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings youth
Popular passages
Page 59 - Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest. The soul, uneasy and confined, from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come...
Page 204 - Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee...
Page 203 - To die, to sleep ; To sleep : perchance to dream : ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life...
Page 429 - So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Page 204 - How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep ! — O Sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...
Page 325 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Page 144 - We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbour and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky : The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask ; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Page 375 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
Page 11 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 355 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.