Poems

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N. Biggs, 1797 - English poetry - 218 pages
 

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Page 216 - Where my tired mind might rest, and call it home. There is a magic in that little word : It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit.
Page 163 - For this wind might awaken the dead." "-I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, " That Mary would venture there now." " Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied, " I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, And faint if she saw a white cow.
Page 55 - THOUGH now no more the musing ear Delights to listen to the breeze, That lingers o'er the green-wood shade, I love thee, Winter! well.
Page 82 - COLD was the night wind ; drifting fast the snows fell ; Wide were the downs, and shelterless and naked ; When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey, Weary and way-sore. Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections ; Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom : She had no home, the world was all before her, She had no shelter. Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her :
Page 216 - When I have gazed From some high eminence on goodly vales And cots and villages embowered below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Amid the scene so fair, nor one small spot Where my tired mind might rest and call it home.
Page 166 - Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, She crept to conceal herself there : That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, And between them a corpse did they bear.
Page 55 - In deep tranquillity. Not undelightful now to roam The wild heath sparkling on the sight ; Not undelightful now to pace The forest's ample rounds, And see the spangled branches shine, And mark the moss of many a hue That varies the old tree's brown bark, Or o'er the gray stone spreads.
Page 162 - As she welcomed them in with a smile ; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.
Page 82 - I had a home once — I had once a husband — I am a widow, poor and broken-hearted!
Page 165 - O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight ; Through the gateway she entered, she...

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