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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
Long years!--It tries the thrilling frame to bear And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song-- Long years of outrage--calumny--and wrong; Imputed madness, prisoned solitude, And the Mind's canker in its savage mood, When the impatient thirst of light and air...
In these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces shine, And all the writer lives in every line; His easy art may happy nature seem, Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews--sons mine ... ah God, I know not! Well, She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
Should you ask me, whence these stories?
Dearest, best and brightest, Come away, To the woods and to the fields! Dearer than this fairest day Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle in the brake.
THERE was a child went forth every day; And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became; And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts. Glion, but not the same! And yet I know not! All unchanged The turf, the pines, the sky! The hills in their old...
THE PROLOGUE. WEET ye not where there stands a little town, Which that y-called is Bob-up-and-down, Under the Blee, in Canterbury way? There gan our Hoste for to jape and play, And saide, "Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia! bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear.
Gay was the Maid of Ocram As lady eer might be Ere she did venture past a maid To love Lord Gregory. Fair was the Maid of Ocram And shining like the sun Ere her bower key was turned on...
Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?-- To give the glow-worm light?
I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung By one man's disobedience lost, now sing Recovered Paradise to all mankind, By one man's firm obedience fully tried Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,...
Still must I hear?--shall hoarse FITZGERALD bawl His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my _Muse?_ Prepare for rhyme--I'll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my...
By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, The fox was well induc'd to be a parson, And of the priest eftsoons gan to inquire, How to a benefice he might aspire.
(In memoriam C. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M.
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll. Yes, yes, we know that we can jest, We know, we know that we can smile!
There they are, my fifty men and women Naming me the fifty poems finished! Take them, Love, the book and me together; Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also.
whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Exploring every path of Ida's glade; Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend, Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Bade _thee_ obey,...
PART FIRST. 'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But, of the two, less dangerous is the offence To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
This verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse This from no venal or ungrateful Muse.
THE PROLOGUE.
MANTIS EIM EZTHLON AGONUN.--OEDIP. PROLOGUE TO HELLAS.
THE PROLOGUE. THE Cook of London, while the Reeve thus spake, For joy he laugh'd and clapp'd him on the back: "Aha!" quoth he, "for Christes passion, This Miller had a sharp conclusion, Upon this argument of herbergage.
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through my soul! Thou standest, smiling Down on me!
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