Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier |
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Page xiii
... TEAR Thomas Moore 124. CONTENTS . xiii WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS CUPID GROWN CAREFUL . TO THE HERB ROSEMARY TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM . LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCHYARD , YORKSHIRE • Sir Humphry ...
... TEAR Thomas Moore 124. CONTENTS . xiii WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS CUPID GROWN CAREFUL . TO THE HERB ROSEMARY TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM . LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCHYARD , YORKSHIRE • Sir Humphry ...
Page xiv
John Greenleaf Whittier. O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR Thomas Moore 124 THOU ART , O God !. 66 124 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY Lord Byron 125 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB " " 66 125 THE LAKE OF GENEVA . 66 66 126 MONT BLANC . 66 66 126 ...
John Greenleaf Whittier. O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR Thomas Moore 124 THOU ART , O God !. 66 124 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY Lord Byron 125 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB " " 66 125 THE LAKE OF GENEVA . 66 66 126 MONT BLANC . 66 66 126 ...
Page xxix
... Tear 124 LOWELL , MARIA WHITE Vale of Avoca , The 124 Alpine Sheep , The Thou art , O God !. 124 LUNT , GEORGE . MORRIS , LEWIS . Pilgrim Song Oh , Snows so Pure ! 362 LYTTON , EDWARD LORD . No More Courage 362 362 Sabbath , The MORRIS ...
... Tear 124 LOWELL , MARIA WHITE Vale of Avoca , The 124 Alpine Sheep , The Thou art , O God !. 124 LUNT , GEORGE . MORRIS , LEWIS . Pilgrim Song Oh , Snows so Pure ! 362 LYTTON , EDWARD LORD . No More Courage 362 362 Sabbath , The MORRIS ...
Page 8
... tears did shed for pure affection . The lion would not leave her desolate , But with her went along , as a strong guard Of her chaste person , and a faithful mate Of her sad troubles , and misfortunes hard . Still , when she slept , he ...
... tears did shed for pure affection . The lion would not leave her desolate , But with her went along , as a strong guard Of her chaste person , and a faithful mate Of her sad troubles , and misfortunes hard . Still , when she slept , he ...
Page 10
... tear : I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear . I wrestle not with rage While fury's flame doth burn ; It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth turn . But when the flame is out , And ebbing wrath doth end , I ...
... tear : I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear . I wrestle not with rage While fury's flame doth burn ; It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth turn . But when the flame is out , And ebbing wrath doth end , I ...
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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,...