Select specimens of the English poets, ed. by A. De VereAubrey Thomas De Vere 1858 |
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Page xii
... dear to me the hour . How oft has the Benshee cried . 233 The Voices of Home . ibid . 269 234 Let Erin remember the days of Mariner's Hymn Mrs. Southey 270 The Burial of Sir John Moore old . 234 Wolfe 271 The Song of Fionnuala 235 The ...
... dear to me the hour . How oft has the Benshee cried . 233 The Voices of Home . ibid . 269 234 Let Erin remember the days of Mariner's Hymn Mrs. Southey 270 The Burial of Sir John Moore old . 234 Wolfe 271 The Song of Fionnuala 235 The ...
Page 7
... dear , That is to me my sail and eke my steer . " 36 Her little child lay weeping in her arm ; And kneeling piteously , to him she said- " Peace , little son , I will do thee no harm : " With that her kerchief off her head she braid ...
... dear , That is to me my sail and eke my steer . " 36 Her little child lay weeping in her arm ; And kneeling piteously , to him she said- " Peace , little son , I will do thee no harm : " With that her kerchief off her head she braid ...
Page 32
... dear unto their God then younglings to their dam . " " Till now , " said then the knight , " I weened well , That great Cleopolis where I have beene , In which that fairest Fary queene doth dwell , The fairest citty was that might be ...
... dear unto their God then younglings to their dam . " " Till now , " said then the knight , " I weened well , That great Cleopolis where I have beene , In which that fairest Fary queene doth dwell , The fairest citty was that might be ...
Page 34
... did save ; And last the food of life , which now we have , Even he Himselfe in his dear sacrament , To feede our hungry soules , unto us lent . * * * * 6 accursed . * Then rouze thyself , O Earth , out of thy 34 SELECT POETRY .
... did save ; And last the food of life , which now we have , Even he Himselfe in his dear sacrament , To feede our hungry soules , unto us lent . * * * * 6 accursed . * Then rouze thyself , O Earth , out of thy 34 SELECT POETRY .
Page 35
... dear selfe , that shall thy feeble brest Inflame with love , and set thee all on fire With burning zeale , through every part entire ; That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight , But in his sweet and amiable sight . Thenceforth all ...
... dear selfe , that shall thy feeble brest Inflame with love , and set thee all on fire With burning zeale , through every part entire ; That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight , But in his sweet and amiable sight . Thenceforth all ...
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Select Specimens of the English Poets, Ed. by A. de Vere Aubrey Thomas De Vere No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
beauty BEN JONSON beneath birds born A.D. bosom breast breath bright Castara Chaucer clouds customed hill dark dead dear death deep delight died A.D. dost doth dream dull earth dwelling earth English poetry eyes fair fame fancy flowers genius GILES FLETCHER glory Gondibert grace grave green happy hast hath hear heart heaven hills honour hour Idlesse king light living looks Lord Lord Byron lyre morning mortal nature ne'er never night numbers nymph o'er PHILIP MASSINGER pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise rills rise rocks rose round Samian wine shade shine sigh sight silent sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars stream sweet sweet oblivion tears Tell tempest thee thine things thou art thought trees unto vale vex'd virgin voice wave wind wings woods wouldst youth
Popular passages
Page 253 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day...
Page 254 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of poesy...
Page 252 - Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun ! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core...
Page 248 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 47 - The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Page 18 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle...
Page 94 - Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
Page 149 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death...
Page 152 - Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view ; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face...
Page 44 - Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors, That feelingly persuade me what I am.