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beauty believe beneath bird blessed blood body breath bright called character child close clouds comes creature dead death delight dream earth eyes face fall father fear feel feet felt flowers genius give grave green hand happy head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour human imagination knew land leave less light living Loch look mean mind moor morning mountains murder nature never night once passed passion perhaps poet poetry poor rest round season seemed seen shadow side silent single sitting sleep smile sometimes song soon soul sound spirit spring stand stone strong sweet thing thou thought till touch trees true turn voice walk whole wild wind wings woods young
Seite 81 - ... starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills. In him the savage virtue of the race, Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead Nor did he change ; but kept in lofty place The wisdom which adversity had bred. Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth ; The shepherd lord was honoured more and more ; And, ages after he was laid in earth, "The good Lord Clifford
Seite 12 - There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere ; Thither the rainbow comes— the cloud — And mists that spread the flying shroud ; And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past ; But that enormous barrier binds it fast.
Seite 170 - Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also. 9 When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
Seite 155 - From poetry the reader justly expects, and from good poetry always obtains, the enlargement of his comprehension and elevation of his fancy : but this is rarely to be hoped by Christians from metrical devotion.
Seite 190 - O that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away and be at rest!
Seite 31 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Seite 228 - Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light — The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight : The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.
Seite 160 - In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care.
Seite 155 - ... something more excellent than itself. All that pious verse can do, is to help the memory and delight the ear, and for these purposes it may be very useful ; but it supplies nothing to the mind. The ideas of Christian theology are too simple for eloquence, too sacred for fiction, and too majestic for ornament ; to recommend them by tropes and figures, is to magnify by a concave mirror the sidereal hemisphere.