The Poems of William Collins

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H. Frowde, 1907 - 90 pages
 

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Page 51 - O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hush'd save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum...
Page 58 - The doubling drum with furious heat; And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between. Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.
Page 59 - Joy's ecstatic trial; He with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best.
Page 59 - Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.
Page 52 - midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams ! Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet ; be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ! And hears their simple bell ! and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil...
Page 65 - To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove: But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love.
Page 57 - When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell...
Page 69 - For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait, Or wander forth to meet him on his way; For him in vain, at to-fall of the day, His babes shall linger at. th' unclosing gate: Ah, ne'er shall he.
Page xvi - ... both writers of Odes ? it is odd enough, but each is the half of a considerable man, and one the counterpart of the other. The first has but little invention, very poetical choice of expression, and a good ear. The second, a fine fancy, modelled upon the antique, a bad ear, great variety of words, and images with no choice at all. They both deserve to last some years, but will not.
Page 51 - For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams.

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