The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.1837 |
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Page 6
... thy giant bulk Can link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
... thy giant bulk Can link thee with decay ? No blight is on thy leaves , no branch From thy huge trunk is torn , And still in conscious might thou laugh'st The hurricane to scorn . And many a summer's bravery Each ample bough shall grace 6.
Page 7
... thee but little recks it What seasons come or go , Thou lovest to breathe the gale of spring And bask in summer's glow , But more to feel the wintry winds Sweep by in awful mirth , For well thou know'st each blast will fix Thy roots ...
... thee but little recks it What seasons come or go , Thou lovest to breathe the gale of spring And bask in summer's glow , But more to feel the wintry winds Sweep by in awful mirth , For well thou know'st each blast will fix Thy roots ...
Page 20
... thee fiercely close , Viewing thy stately towers with jealous eye , Marking thy bulwarks only to destroy ; What though they long to see thee fall'n - discrown'd- " Thy pleasant things laid waste , " and strewn around ; If treachery lurk ...
... thee fiercely close , Viewing thy stately towers with jealous eye , Marking thy bulwarks only to destroy ; What though they long to see thee fall'n - discrown'd- " Thy pleasant things laid waste , " and strewn around ; If treachery lurk ...
Page 26
... thee well ! ' Tis not for thee to trick thyself like Spring , Or round thee Summer's sunny vest to fling ; No ! thou must win by a sadder spell : Thy voice should ever have a dirge - like swell 26.
... thee well ! ' Tis not for thee to trick thyself like Spring , Or round thee Summer's sunny vest to fling ; No ! thou must win by a sadder spell : Thy voice should ever have a dirge - like swell 26.
Page 34
... thee which bound me , And stoop my head for thee to wreathe Love's new - wrought fetters close around me . And thought I , kneeling by thy side , Such 34.
... thee which bound me , And stoop my head for thee to wreathe Love's new - wrought fetters close around me . And thought I , kneeling by thy side , Such 34.
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Other editions - View all
The Spirit of the Woods, by the Author of 'The Moral of Flowers' Rebecca Hey No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
adorn alder alluded amongst ancient Arbutus autumn banyan beauty beech beneath berries birch birks of Aberfeldy bloom blossoms boughs bower branches breath bright brow cedar cherry clusters crown cultivated cypress dark doth earth Evelyn evergreens fair fair brow fancy feel flowers foliage forest fragrance fruit garden genus Gilpin gives gloom glory glow graceful green ground grove grows growth hath hawthorn hazel heart heaven height holly honour LAURUS NOBILIS leaf leaves misletoe Mount Ida mountain mountain ash myrtle native nature Norway spruce o'er olive paliurus palm peace pine plant poet pyracantha rock rose sacred says scene scenery seem'd shade Shakspeare shrubs smile soil solemn song species spell spring summer sweet sylvan tears temple thee Thomas Dick Lauder thorns thou timber tint tree vine Virgil weeping whilst wild wild cherry willow wood yield
Popular passages
Page 95 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Page 151 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Page 92 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Page 14 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Page 271 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Page 183 - The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between...
Page 2 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 121 - It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps...
Page 173 - Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, In Desolation unrepining, Without a hope on earth to find A mirror in an answering mind, Meek souls there are, who little dream Their daily strife an Angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
Page 258 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...