Woodcuts and VersesPrinted at the private Press of Lee Priory; by John Warwick., 1820 - 116 sider |
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Side 71
... tender Melodist divine , A Poet's soul is surely thine . 1 . TIENSLE DROIT Addressed to Sir E. B.. The LAPWING , the OWL , and the NIGHTINGALE . STANZAS WRITTEN AT SUDELEY CASTLE . ' TIS now the hour the Wanderer strays Through covert ...
... tender Melodist divine , A Poet's soul is surely thine . 1 . TIENSLE DROIT Addressed to Sir E. B.. The LAPWING , the OWL , and the NIGHTINGALE . STANZAS WRITTEN AT SUDELEY CASTLE . ' TIS now the hour the Wanderer strays Through covert ...
Side 91
... tender sighs Exchanged for indignant gloom ? And why do thy rolling eyes The basilisk's glare assume ? 2 Remember thy wooing days ; The damsel was then divine : Remember thy winning ways , That made such a goddess thine . And art thou ...
... tender sighs Exchanged for indignant gloom ? And why do thy rolling eyes The basilisk's glare assume ? 2 Remember thy wooing days ; The damsel was then divine : Remember thy winning ways , That made such a goddess thine . And art thou ...
Side 105
... second hope destroyed . Ah , rather , for this tender woe , That here he left his latest trace , Should Memory round thy precincts throw A holy charm , a soothing grace . Adieu , fair Lee , a gem of thine I. Farewell to Lee Priory. ...
... second hope destroyed . Ah , rather , for this tender woe , That here he left his latest trace , Should Memory round thy precincts throw A holy charm , a soothing grace . Adieu , fair Lee , a gem of thine I. Farewell to Lee Priory. ...
Side 107
... tender heart . I bear it from a fostering soil , That suffered not it's bloom to perish ; And so on me may Fortune smile As I the ' entrusted treasure cherish . A flower of thine I bear afar , And thou art rich in fair young flowers ...
... tender heart . I bear it from a fostering soil , That suffered not it's bloom to perish ; And so on me may Fortune smile As I the ' entrusted treasure cherish . A flower of thine I bear afar , And thou art rich in fair young flowers ...
Side 131
... tender tone ; And ' tis fit that Thou with thy harp and smiles Be the Muse of these regions lone ! Lough - Corrib , a lake of great extent and beauty in the West of Ireland . Notes . Ode to the Historic Muse . By History's.
... tender tone ; And ' tis fit that Thou with thy harp and smiles Be the Muse of these regions lone ! Lough - Corrib , a lake of great extent and beauty in the West of Ireland . Notes . Ode to the Historic Muse . By History's.
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ancient Greece Avondale Avonmore beauty beguiling Bird bloom bowers breathe brow Brydges Calydonian Boar Cephisus charm cheek Clifton Halls crown dance daughter divine dreams Dunluce Castle e'en enchanted eyes Fair Bridges fair Lee Fairy all day Fan softly Fancy Fancy's fane Farewell to Lee feet flowers gale gentle Lady fair Goddess golden grace green sunny isle grove heart Herodotus hill hopes hunting the Fairy Keivin's Lapwing Lee Priory light Lord Chandos loved the Moon lovelier Lydian stream Maid that loved Medusa melancholy mellow merry in Clifton Monksdale Muse Nightingale Notes Nymph o'er Parian marble pensive pleasure Plutarch poet poetical pride Printer private Press proud Queen rocky shine sing smile song SONNET Soul spirit springs Stanza Sudeley Castle sung sweet sylvan tall Bird thine thou art Thucydides thy harp thy wall vale Vartrey verse voice wander warble wild wild-daisy wings wood Xenophon young Gleaner youth
Populære avsnitt
Side 131 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there ! TO MERCY.
Side 133 - Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects
Side 133 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Side 133 - When he had better far have stretched his limbs Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, By sun or moon-light, to the influxes Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame Should share in Nature's immortality, A venerable thing ! and so his song Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself Be loved like Nature...
Side 133 - A different lore : we may not thus profane Nature's sweet voices, always full of love And joyance ! 'Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes; As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Side 133 - Should share in Nature's immortality, A venerable thing! and so his song Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself Be loved like Nature! But 'twill not be...
Side 133 - Careering round, Joy wings his feet, Joy lifts him from the ground! Pointing to such, well might Cornelia say, When the rich casket shone in bright array,
Side 133 - And she hath watched Many a nightingale perch giddily On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze, And to that motion tune his wanton song Like tipsy joy that reels with tossing head.
Side 133 - twill not be so; And youths and maidens most poetical, Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.
Side 41 - Culling flowers of rhyme. Fancy's children, ever heedless, Why thus bribe the hours ? Death to prove the trouble needless Withers all your flowers ; Why then bribe the hours ? Like the sand so fast retreating, Thus your hopes shall fall ; Life and fame are just as fleeting ; Poets, flowers, and all...