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The Seasons, and Castle of Indolence: To which is Prefixed the Life of the ...
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1826
The Seasons and Castle of Indolence: To which is Prefixed the Life of the Author
Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1826
amid beam beauty beneath bloom breast breath breeze bright calm circling clouds comes crowd dark death deep delight E'en earth ether fair fall fancy fear feels fields flame flocks flood force forest gale gentle gives gloom grace grove hand happy head heart heaven hills human kind labour land light lively look lost mind mingled morn mountains Muse Nature Nature's night o'er once passions peace plain pride pure race rage rise rocks roll round rural scene season sense shade shining sleep smile snow soft song soul sounding spirit spread Spring stand storm stream sweet swelling tender thee thou thought thousand till toil train turn vale various virtue walks wander waste wave whole wide wild winds wing Winter woods youth
Side 213 - THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these Are but the varied GOD ! The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart, is joy.
Side 256 - I care not, fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Side 214 - The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose...
Side 211 - Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictured life; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes Of happiness? those longings after fame ? Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts, Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? All now are...
Side 186 - In vain for him the officious wife prepares The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; In vain his little children, peeping out Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, Nor friends, nor sacred home.
Side 60 - With quicken'd step, Brown night retires. Young day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.
Side 159 - The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf Incessant rustles from the mournful grove, Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, And slowly circles through the waving air.
Side 132 - A native grace Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most.
Side 225 - A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky...
Side 185 - Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on From hill to dale, still more and more astray; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth In many a vain attempt.