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" How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light When I think of my own native land In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries... "
The English Reader, Or, Pieces in Prose and Poetry: Selected from the Best ... - Page 175
by Lindley Murray - 1827 - 264 pages
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The English Reader: Or, Pieces in Prose and Poetry, Selected from the Best ...

Lindley Murray - Readers - 1815 - 262 pages
...mind ! Compar'd with the fpeed of its flight, The tempeft itfelf lags behind, And the fwift-wing'd arrows of light. •When I think of my own native land, In a moment I feem to be there : But alas ! recollection at hand The beaft is laid down in his lair ; "Even here...
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The English Reader: Or, Pieces in Prose and Poetry, Selected from the Best ...

Lindley Murray - English language - 1816 - 328 pages
...mind ! Compar'd with the speed of its flight. The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,...moment I seem to be there ; But, alas ! recollection at band, Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. The beast is laid down...
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Elegant extracts in poetry, Volume 2

Elegant extracts - 1816 - 490 pages
...mind ! Coaipar'd with the speed of its flight, The tem|K->t itself lags behind, And the swift winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I stem to be there; But, al.is ! recollection at hand, Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl...
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Poems,

William Cowper - English poetry - 1817 - 252 pages
...mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags hehind, And the swift winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land. In a moment I seem to he there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me hack to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone...
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The English Reader: Or, Pieces in Prose and Poetry, Selected from the Best ...

Lindley Murray - Readers - 1817 - 290 pages
...«peed of its The tempest itself lags behind, , And the, swift wing'd arrows of light. When 1 thirk of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hapd Soon hurries me back to despair. E'en here is a season of rest, And I to my cabio repair. There's...
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The Minor Poems of William Cowper of the Inner Temple, Part 1

William Cowper - English poetry - 1818 - 240 pages
...mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,...recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair; Even here is a season of rest,...
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Poems, Volume 1

William Cowper - English poetry - 1818 - 314 pages
...mind ! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself laais behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,...recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. vn. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season...
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The minor poems of William Cowper, Volume 1

William Cowper - English poetry - 1818 - 244 pages
...mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,...there; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me hack to despair. But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The heast is laid down in his lair ; Even here...
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The Minor Poems of William Cowper of the Inner Temple

William Cowper - English poetry - 1818 - 244 pages
...the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. AVhen I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem...recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of...
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The Plain Englishman [ed. by C. Knight and E.H. Locker]., Volume 1

Charles Knight - 1820 - 636 pages
...mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,...recollection at hand, Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest, The beast has laid down in his lair : E'en here is a season...
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