North Devon

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A. & C. Black., 1906 - 186 sider
 

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Side 79 - BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay...
Side 79 - But, O, for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Side 47 - Each has its upright walls, inland of rich oak wood, nearer the sea of dark green furze, then of smooth turf, then of weird black cliffs which range out right and left far into the deep sea, in castles, spires, and wings of jagged iron-stone. Each has its narrow strip of fertile meadow, its crystal...
Side 168 - The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise.
Side 21 - Stones near to it; and as our united funds were very small, we agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the 'New Monthly Magazine,' set up by Phillips, the bookseller, and edited by Dr Aikin.
Side 118 - Above the town the hills close in, cushioned with deep oal woods, through which juts here and there a crag of fern-fringed slate ; below they lower, and open more and more in softlyrounded knolls, and fertile squares of red and green, till they sink into the wide expanse of hazy flats, rich...
Side 118 - ALL who have travelled through the delicious scenery of North Devon must needs know the little white town of Bideford, which slopes upwards from its broad tide-river paved with yellow sands, and manyarched old bridge where salmon wait for Autumn floods, toward the pleasant upland on the west. Above the town the hills close in, cushioned with deep oak woods, through which juts here and there a crag of fern-fringed slate ; below they lower, and open more and more in...
Side 129 - TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Side 21 - In the spring of the year 1798, he, my Sister, and myself, started from Alfoxden, pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to visit Lenton and the valley of Stones near it ; and as our united funds were very small, we agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent to the New Monthly Magazine set up by Phillips the bookseller and edited by Dr.
Side 47 - ... where the salmon-trout gather in from their Atlantic wanderings, after each autumn flood ; its ridge of blown sand, bright with golden trefoil and crimson lady's finger ; its grey bank of polished pebbles, down which the stream rattles toward the sea below.

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