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Page 15
... sound ; The joy , the light of every face , Sleeps far beneath the ground . Now , when I take my much - loved flute , To pipe a joyous strain , To every accent it is mute , Save that which doth complain . The seasons come and pass away ...
... sound ; The joy , the light of every face , Sleeps far beneath the ground . Now , when I take my much - loved flute , To pipe a joyous strain , To every accent it is mute , Save that which doth complain . The seasons come and pass away ...
Page 17
... , Which gleams the hills between , When not a silver streak From the morning can be won , Save the fringe upon the peak Of the cloud before the sun . THE RURAL POSTMAN'S SABBATH . THE mellowed sounds of Sabbath HOPE . 17.
... , Which gleams the hills between , When not a silver streak From the morning can be won , Save the fringe upon the peak Of the cloud before the sun . THE RURAL POSTMAN'S SABBATH . THE mellowed sounds of Sabbath HOPE . 17.
Page 18
Edward Capern. THE RURAL POSTMAN'S SABBATH . THE mellowed sounds of Sabbath bells Fall gently on my ear , And as they break in murmuring swells , My heart is tuned to prayer . In Sunday garb , all neatly clad , With joy upon each face ...
Edward Capern. THE RURAL POSTMAN'S SABBATH . THE mellowed sounds of Sabbath bells Fall gently on my ear , And as they break in murmuring swells , My heart is tuned to prayer . In Sunday garb , all neatly clad , With joy upon each face ...
Page 77
... sound of their fluttering whirr . But , O , I shall never forget the bright smoke That curled from the cot in the dale , As it stole ' mid the back - ground of chestnut and oak , Like a stream of rich blue through the vale . At length I ...
... sound of their fluttering whirr . But , O , I shall never forget the bright smoke That curled from the cot in the dale , As it stole ' mid the back - ground of chestnut and oak , Like a stream of rich blue through the vale . At length I ...
Page 110
... a cell in his mind . Content in obscurity's nook , His thoughts are prophetic and sage ; And when Death has sealed up his book , You'll wish you had scanned o'er a page . THE REVERIE . No sound was heard , a gentle 110 POEMS .
... a cell in his mind . Content in obscurity's nook , His thoughts are prophetic and sage ; And when Death has sealed up his book , You'll wish you had scanned o'er a page . THE REVERIE . No sound was heard , a gentle 110 POEMS .
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Common terms and phrases
April's showers Barton Home beautiful Spring Bideford bird bloom blossom bough breath breeze brooklet brow buds burn burning song butterflies charm cheek Christmas clouds cuckoo daisies dance dear death Devon earth Edward Capern England eyes fields are yellow flow'rets flowers flying song Foster Genius fragrant friends fugleman gentle gleam glory golden green happy hours hath hawthorn hear heart heaven Heigho hill honour kiss lads lark laughing light Live in love maiden melody merrily merry harvesters mirth morn mourn music tunes neath night o'er Old England parterre poems poet poet's postman Pretty Rosa primrose rapturous song rich rills Rosa Bright rosy scene shade shout showers singing mellow skies smiling smiling train song sorrow soul stream sweet sweetest tear tell thee thought thrush tis pleasant living toil tree tune Twas wander wavelet wear ween weep Whilst wild wing ye men yonder
Popular passages
Page i - And nights devoid of ease. Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction
Page 158 - Look aloft!" and be firm, and be fearless of heart. If the friend who embraced In prosperity's glow, With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe, Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed, "Look aloft!
Page 27 - TIS PLEASANT LIVING. BE not harsh and unforgiving, Live in love ; 'tis pleasant living. If an angry man should meet thee, And assail thee indiscreetly, Turn not thou again and rend him, Lest thou needlessly offend him ; Show him love hath been thy teacher, Kindness is a potent preacher : Gentleness is e'er forgiving, — Live in love ; 'tis pleasant living. Why be angry with each other ? Man was made to love his brother : Kindness is a human duty, Meekness a celestial beauty. Words of kindness spoke...
Page 93 - He wooes the bright sun o'er the lea With a flourish of his horn. So the thrush, the thrush, the old gray thrush, A merry, blithe old boy is he ; You may hear him on the roadside bush, Or the topmost twig of the mountain tree. To come with the balmy breath of Spring, And...
Page 91 - For he sits upon the topmost twig To carol forth his glee, And none can dance a merrier jig, Or laugh more loud than he. So the thrush, the thrush, the old gray thrush...
Page v - Mr. Capern's features have a striking resemblance to those of Oliver Goldsmith ; he has also the Doctor's sturdy build, though not his personal height. Nor is this the only point of resemblance to our dear Goldy. Mr. Capern has an ear for music, he plays touchingly on the flute, and sings his own songs to his own tunes with striking energy or tenderness.
Page 158 - Or dragging your limbs through a lawn ; [f wading knee-deep through an angry flood, Or a plough'd field newly sown, — " If sweating big drops 'neath a burning sun, And shiv'ring "mid sleet and snow ; If drenched to the skin with rain, be fun, And can a joy bestow ! " If toiling away through a weary week (No six days work but seven) Without one holy hour to seek A resting place in heaven.
Page 155 - ... plays touchingly on the flute, and sings his own songs to his own tunes with striking energy or tenderness." He certainly enjoyed his life as a postman. He says: — O, the postman's life is as happy a life As any one's, I trow ; Wand'ring away where dragon-flies play, And brooks sing- soft and low ; And watching the lark as he soars on high, To carol in yonder cloud, "He sings in his labours, and why not I ?
Page 53 - WHEBE hast thou been, my beautiful Spring ? To the sultry south, on the swallow's wing ; Kissing the little kidnapped slave, Ere borne away on the deep blue wave ; Brushing the tear from the mother's cheek, As she wept for her child at Mozambique ? Else whence comest thou with this potent charm, Chaining the winds to the frigid zone, Making the breast of Nature warm, And stilling old Winter's undertone ? Where hast thou been, my beautiful Spring...
Page 159 - But, postman, not to thee." O, the postman's is a blessed life, And, sighing heavily,