Selections from the British Poets, Band 1 |
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Seite 13
But on his breast a bloody cross he bore , The dear remembrance of his dying
Lord , For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore , And dead ( as living )
ever him adored : Upon his shield the like was also scored , For sovereign hope ...
But on his breast a bloody cross he bore , The dear remembrance of his dying
Lord , For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore , And dead ( as living )
ever him adored : Upon his shield the like was also scored , For sovereign hope ...
Seite 34
In hope devoid of fears . What lull'd thee , then , asleep ? Sweet sleep , which
likes me best . Tell me where is thy dwelling - place ? In gentle hearts I rest . What
thing doth please thee most ? To gaze on beauty still . What dost thou think to be
...
In hope devoid of fears . What lull'd thee , then , asleep ? Sweet sleep , which
likes me best . Tell me where is thy dwelling - place ? In gentle hearts I rest . What
thing doth please thee most ? To gaze on beauty still . What dost thou think to be
...
Seite 52
When to my chamber I myself retire , Burnt with the sparks that kindled all this fire
, Thinking of England , which my hope contains , The happy isle where Geraldine
remains : Of Hunsdon , where those sweet celestial eyne At first did pierce this ...
When to my chamber I myself retire , Burnt with the sparks that kindled all this fire
, Thinking of England , which my hope contains , The happy isle where Geraldine
remains : Of Hunsdon , where those sweet celestial eyne At first did pierce this ...
Seite 56
Till thy return , by hope they only live ; Yet had they all , they all away would give :
The world and they so ill - according be , That wealth and poets never can agree .
Few live in court that of their good have care , The Muses ' friends are ...
Till thy return , by hope they only live ; Yet had they all , they all away would give :
The world and they so ill - according be , That wealth and poets never can agree .
Few live in court that of their good have care , The Muses ' friends are ...
Seite 60
The thirst , that from the soul doth rise , Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of
Jove's nectar sup , I would not change for thine . I sent thee , late , a rosy wreath ,
Not so much honouring thee , As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd
be .
The thirst , that from the soul doth rise , Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of
Jove's nectar sup , I would not change for thine . I sent thee , late , a rosy wreath ,
Not so much honouring thee , As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd
be .
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arms bear beauty breath bright bring clouds comes court dark death deep delight doth earth eternal eyes face fair fall fame fate fear fields fire flowers give gods grace grave green hand happy hath head hear heart heaven hill hope keep king lady leave light live looks lost mighty mind morn Muse Nature never night o'er once pain peace pleasing pleasure praise pride rest rich rise rose round sacred sense shade side sight sing sleep soft song soul sound spirits spread spring stream sure sweet tears tell thee things thou thought Till tree true virtue voice wandering waves wild wind wings wood youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 43 - Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
Seite 216 - THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye : My noonday walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.
Seite 352 - Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Seite 96 - There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet Societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Seite 174 - A man so various, that he seem'd to be Not one, but all Mankind's Epitome. Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; Was everything by starts, and nothing long: But in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon: Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking; Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Seite 63 - We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or anything. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Seite 143 - Or of the eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.
Seite 236 - HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire.
Seite 91 - Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
Seite 89 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower! Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek...
Bibliografische Informationen
| Titel | Selections from the British Poets, Band 1 Bände 112-113 von Family library Ausgaben 112-113 von Harper's family library Harpers' family library, no. 112-113 Selections from the British Poets, Fitz-Greene Halleck |
| Herausgeber | Fitz-Greene Halleck |
| Zusammengestellt von | Fitz-Greene Halleck |
| Verlag | Harper & brothers, 1840 |
| Original von | New York Public Library |
| Digitalisiert | 22. Nov. 2006 |
| ISBN | 1404729909, 9781404729902 |
| Zitat exportieren | BiBTeX EndNote RefMan |