Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier |
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Page 22
... dreams , and ho , ho , ho ! When lazy queans have naught to do , But study how to cog and lie ; To make debate and mischief too , " Twixt one another secretly : I mark their gloze , And it disclose UNKNOWN . [ Before 1649- ] EDOM O ...
... dreams , and ho , ho , ho ! When lazy queans have naught to do , But study how to cog and lie ; To make debate and mischief too , " Twixt one another secretly : I mark their gloze , And it disclose UNKNOWN . [ Before 1649- ] EDOM O ...
Page 29
... dreams my head infest But such as Jacob's temples blest . RICHARD CRASHAW . 29 Whilst I do rest , my soul advance ; Make my sleep a holy trance : That I may , my rest being wrought , Awake into some holy thought , And with as active ...
... dreams my head infest But such as Jacob's temples blest . RICHARD CRASHAW . 29 Whilst I do rest , my soul advance ; Make my sleep a holy trance : That I may , my rest being wrought , Awake into some holy thought , And with as active ...
Page 33
... dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep , So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes , And into glory peep . If a star were confined into a tomb , Her captive flames must needs burn there ; But when the hand that lockt her ...
... dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep , So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes , And into glory peep . If a star were confined into a tomb , Her captive flames must needs burn there ; But when the hand that lockt her ...
Page 68
... dreams do fly ; Why then should sorrow last ? Since grief but aggravates thy loss , Grieve not for what is past . " " O , say not so , thou holy friar ! I pray thee say not so ; For since my true love died for me , ' Tis meet my tears ...
... dreams do fly ; Why then should sorrow last ? Since grief but aggravates thy loss , Grieve not for what is past . " " O , say not so , thou holy friar ! I pray thee say not so ; For since my true love died for me , ' Tis meet my tears ...
Page 69
... dream that thou art she . My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son , Wretch even then , life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me ...
... dream that thou art she . My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead , Say , wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son , Wretch even then , life's journey just begun ? Perhaps thou gav'st me ...
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Common terms and phrases
angel beauty bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie breast breath bright brow busk calm cheek Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth Edom evermore eyes face fair fear feet flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Inchcape Rock Jackdaw JOHN KEATS Kilmeny kissed lady land lassie light lips live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun morning never night o'er pale praise prayer rest river Lee rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE shade shine shore sigh silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree vale voice wandering waves weary ween weep wild WILLIAM WORDSWORTH wind wings Yarrow
Popular passages
Page 18 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 186 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost, All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 200 - Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells.' How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Page 61 - Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Page 17 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Page 102 - River where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Nethe'rby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For. a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
Page 17 - And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Page 100 - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height. Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell.
Page 17 - Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate...
Page 28 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives,...