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Ambleside art thou aught babe babies smile baby bard beauty behold beneath bird blessed blest bold breath bright calm child Cowslip dark dear death Dionysus doom'd dost dream e'en earth fain fair faith fancy fear flowers glad grace GRASMERE GUERNSEY LILY haply happy Hartley Coleridge hath heart heaven hippogriff holy hope infant Jove Jupiter lady light living Lord maid maiden meek merry Methinks mezereon mighty morning mortal mother ne'er never night nought numbers Nymphs o'er pain Pindar poet poor praise pray prayer pretty Prometheus rhyme rill RIZPAH seem'd sigh sing sleep smile snowdrop soft song Sonnet sorrow soul spirit spring star summer sweet sweet child Sylph tears thee thine thing thou art thou wert thought tree truth Twas vernal voice ween weep Whate'er wild wind wings young youth
Page 343 - BE not afraid to pray — to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay; Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. Far is the time, remote from human sight. When war and discord on the earth shall cease. ^ « Yet every prayer for universal peace Avails the blessed time to expedite. Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven, Though it be what thou canst not hope to see; Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit...
Page 56 - So fair an image of the heavenly dove. Forgive me if I cannot turn away From those sweet eyes that are my earthly heaven ; For they are guiding stars, benignly given To tempt my footsteps to the upward way ; *9 And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, I live and love in God's peculiar light.
Page 315 - THINK not the faith by which the just shall live Is a dead creed, — a map correct of heaven ; Far less a feeling fond and fugitive, A thoughtless gift, withdrawn as soon as given. It is an affirmation and an act That bids -eternal truth be present fact.
Page 288 - Long had our dull forefathers slept supine, Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful nine ; Till Chaucer first, a merry bard, arose, And many a story told in rhyme and prose. But age has rusted what the poet writ, Worn out his language, and obscur'd his wit : In vain he jests in his unpolish'd strain, And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.
Page 148 - mid oozy stones, That stared like any famished giant's bones. Sudden the hills grew black, and hot as stove The air beneath ; it was a toil to be. There was a growling as of angry Jove, Provoked by Juno's prying jealousy — A flash — a crash — the firmament was split, And down it came in drops — the smallest fit To drown a bee in fox-glove bell conceal'd ; joy filled the brook, and comfort cheered the field. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. [WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, born in Glasgow in 1 797, became a ' limb...
Page 358 - Is God quite silent in these latter days ? The. word were but a blank, a hollow sound, If He that spake it were not speaking still, If all the light and all the shade around Were aught but issues of Almighty Will.
Page 15 - Lovely and bright is seen amid the throng Of lesser stars, that rise, and wax, and wane, The transient rulers of the fickle main ; One constant light gleams thro' the dark and long And narrow aisle of memory. How strong, How fortified with all the numerous train Of truths wert thou, great poet of mankind, Who told'st in verse as mighty as the sea, And various as the voices of the wind, The strength of passion rising in the glee • Of battle. Fear was glorified by thee, And Death is lovely in thy...
Page 361 - She sat and wept beside His feet. The weight Of sin oppressed her heart; for all the blame, And the poor malice of the worldly shame, To her was past, extinct, and out of date; Only the sin remained — the leprous state.
Page 288 - Through pathless fields and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale that pleas'd of yore, Can charm an understanding age no more. The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, While the dull moral lies too plain below.
Page 17 - WORDSWORTH. YES, mighty Poet, we have read thy lines, And felt our hearts the better for the reading. A friendly spirit, from thy soul proceeding, Unites our souls ; the light from thee that shines Like the first break of morn, dissolves, combines All creatures with a living flood of beauty. For thou hast proved that purest joy is duty, And love a fondling, that the trunk entwines Of sternest fortitude. Oh, what must be Thy glory here, and what the huge reward In that blest region of thy poesy ?...