Poems

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D. Bogue, 1856 - 215 sider
 

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Side 93 - OF all the birds of tuneful note, That warble o'er field and flood, O give me the thrush with the speckled throat, The king of the ringing wood : For he sits upon the topmost twig To carol forth his glee, And none can dance a merrier jig, Or laugh more loud than he. So the thrush, the thrush, the old gray thrush...
Side 95 - He wooes the bright sun o'er the lea With a flourish of his horn. So the thrush, the thrush, the old gray thrush, A merry, blithe old boy is he ; You may hear him on the roadside bush, Or the topmost twig of the mountain tree. To come with the balmy breath of Spring, And...
Side 88 - BIRD of the Ocean, Graceful in motion, ! Swift in thy passage from inland to sea ; Oft I in fancy pace Over thy dwelling place, Dear to thy nestlings and precious to me. Bright in eccentric flight, Gleaming with purest white, Floating through ether, all buoyant and free ; Raptured, I've seen thee swerve From thy fantastic curve, Dropping with call-note to sport on the lea. Oft when the billows foam, Far from thy native home, Sheltered by woodland, near meadow and brook, Over a rugged stile, Thoughtful,...
Side 157 - ... plays touchingly on the flute, and sings his own songs to his own tunes with striking energy or tenderness." He certainly enjoyed his life as a postman. He says: — O, the postman's life is as happy a life As any one's, I trow ; Wand'ring away where dragon-flies play, And brooks sing- soft and low ; And watching the lark as he soars on high, To carol in yonder cloud, "He sings in his labours, and why not I ?
Side 161 - mid sleet and snow ; If drenched to the skin with rain, be fun, And can a joy bestow ! If toiling away through a weary week (No six-day week, but seven), Without one holy hour to seek A resting-place in heaven, — If hearing the bells ring Sabbath chimes, To bid us all repair To church (as in the olden times), And bend the knee in prayer, — If in those bells he hears a voice, " To thy delivery, " God says to every soul, ' Rejoice,
Side 19 - Devon gave the Men." The brave old men of Devonshire ! 'Tis worth a world to stand As Devon's sons, on Devon's soil, Though infants of the band ; And tell old England to her face, If she is great in fame, 'Twas good old heart of Devon oak That made her glorious name. Speak out, old sea-dog DRAKE — speak out ! And RALEIGH of renown ; GILBERT, and GRENVILLE, lion-hearts, And valiant CHAMPERNOWNE ; And MONK, the Duke of Albemarle, Brave KEATS, and bold CAREW, And, bravest of the brave in war, Stout...
Side 55 - WHERE HAST THOU BEEN, MY BEAUTIFUL SPRING ? WHERE hast thou been, my beautiful Spring ? To the sultry south, on the swallow's wing ; Kissing the little kidnapped slave, Ere borne away on the deep blue wave ; Brushing the tear from the mother's cheek, • As she wept for her child at Mozambique ? Else whence comest thou with this potent charm, Chaining the winds to the frigid zone, Making the breast of Nature warm, And stilling old Winter's undertone ? Where hast thou been, my beautiful Spring...
Side 29 - E'en thy foes will call it kindly. Words are wind : oh let them never Friendship's golden love-cords sever ! Nor be angry, though another Scorn to call thee friend or brother; " Brother," say, " let 's be forgiving, — Live in love ; 'tis pleasant living.
Side 57 - These white-fringed daisies with golden-dipped eyes, These buttercups gleaming like summer-lit skies, These violets adorned with rich purple and blue, These primroses fragrant and innocent too : And lastly, the sweetest and richest, I ween, Of all thy fair daughters, my beautiful Spring ! The buddings that stud all thy pathways with green, Say, where were they gather'd, to shake from thy wing ? Tale ëdunt caeleste melos, [ cáelo velut redîris.

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