English poetry, for use in the schools of the Collegiate institution, Liverpool [ed. by W. J. Conybeare].1844 |
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Side 19
... spare ; Forgive and listen , gentle Clare ! " 66 Alas ! " she said , " the while , - O think of your immortal weal ! In vain for Constance is your zeal ; She died at Holy Isle . " - Lord Marmion started from the ground , As light as 19.
... spare ; Forgive and listen , gentle Clare ! " 66 Alas ! " she said , " the while , - O think of your immortal weal ! In vain for Constance is your zeal ; She died at Holy Isle . " - Lord Marmion started from the ground , As light as 19.
Side 49
... holy name , and Henry of Navarre . The King is come to marshal us , in all his armour drest , And he has bound a snow - white plume upon his gallant crest . He looked upon his people , and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the ...
... holy name , and Henry of Navarre . The King is come to marshal us , in all his armour drest , And he has bound a snow - white plume upon his gallant crest . He looked upon his people , and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the ...
Side 58
... . Their name , their years , spelt by th ' unlettered muse , The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews , That teach the rustic moralist to die . For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey This pleasing , 58.
... . Their name , their years , spelt by th ' unlettered muse , The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews , That teach the rustic moralist to die . For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey This pleasing , 58.
Side 64
... holy head . 15 of snow , Above , below , the rose Twined with her blushing foe , we spread : The bristled boar 16 in infant gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade . Now , brothers , bending o'er th ' accursed loom , Stamp we our ...
... holy head . 15 of snow , Above , below , the rose Twined with her blushing foe , we spread : The bristled boar 16 in infant gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade . Now , brothers , bending o'er th ' accursed loom , Stamp we our ...
Side 76
... Holy Ghost . BISHOP KEN . AN EVENING HYMN . ALL praise to Thee , my God , this night , For all the blessings of the light : Keep me , O keep me , King of kings , Beneath thine own almighty wings . Forgive me , Lord , for thy dear Son ...
... Holy Ghost . BISHOP KEN . AN EVENING HYMN . ALL praise to Thee , my God , this night , For all the blessings of the light : Keep me , O keep me , King of kings , Beneath thine own almighty wings . Forgive me , Lord , for thy dear Son ...
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amain arms array Arth battle beneath BISHOP KEN Blount Branksome Branksome Hall brave breath bright brow cease from troubling chase cheer Clare Clusium crest cried dark dead deep DIES iræ dread dust earth England's Eustace eyes fair Father fierce fight fire Fitz-Eustace Flodden foes gallant glory grave hall hand Hark hast hath head hear heard heart heaven heavenly host helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hill Holy Horatius horse host Hubert HYMN Janiculum King Lars Porsena Lartius light little prince lonely look Lord Marmion loud Mayenne Moncontour morn mountain ne'er Netherby never night o'er plain Praise rein rest rill rode rose Saint SCOTT SHAKSPERE shore shout sigh sing Skiddaw slain sleep smile song soul sound spears spirit squire stag steed tear thee thine Thou art gone Tiber toil tower voice wake weep wicked cease young Lochinvar
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Side 30 - Changed his hand, and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good! ~By too severe a fate, Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood!
Side 6 - That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll, When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! O, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!
Side 57 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Side 59 - E'en in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Side 1 - The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy.
Side 70 - NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Side 70 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head; And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck; if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Side 57 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Side 61 - On a rock, whose haughty brow, Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Side 6 - HERON'S SONG. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, And save his good broadsword he weapons had none ; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.