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The church bells toll a melancholy round, Calling the people to some other prayers, Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares, More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
My Anna, summer laughs in mirth, And we will of the party be, And leave the crickets in the hearth For green fields' merry minstrelsy. I see thee now with little hand Catch at each object passing bye, The happiest...
God prosper, speed,and save, God raise from England's grave Her murdered Queen! Pave with swift victory The steps of Liberty, Whom Britons own to be Immortal Queen. See, she comes throned on high, On swift Eternity! God save the Queen!
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse, And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Many the wonders I this day have seen: The sun, when first he kissed away the tears That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;— The ocean with its vastness, its blue...
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, And round the pebbly beaches far and wide I heard the first wave of the rising tide Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep; A voice out of the silence of the deep, A...
THE PROLOGUE. By that the Manciple his tale had ended, The sunne from the south line was descended So lowe, that it was not to my sight Degrees nine-and-twenty as in height.
(Mark, xi.17) Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure! Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to Thee, A thievish swarm frequents the place, They steal away my...
Rousseau--Voltaire--our Gibbon--and De Staël-- Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, Thy shore of names like these!
To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began.
How can my muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes, Athenian Pallas! tameless, chaste, and wise, Tritogenia, town-preserving Maid, Revered and mighty; from his awful head Whom Jove brought forth, in warlike armour dressed, Golden, all radiant!
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow: And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes--but, oh!
Huge elm, with rifted trunk all notched and scarred, Like to a warrior's destiny!
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest, My soul, this wholesome meditation, How God the Spirit, by angels waited on In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead-- When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.
The turkeys wade the close to catch the bees In the old border full of maple trees And often lay away and breed and come And bring a brood of chelping chickens home.
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will', And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
The golden gates of Sleep unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look down,-- Darkness, weep thy holiest dew,-- Never smiled the inconstant...
1 COME up from the fields, father, here’s a letter from our Pete; And come to the front door, mother—here’s a letter from thy dear son.
I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me, Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren...
Something this foggy day, a something which, Is neither of this fog nor of today, Has set me dreaming of the winds that play Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray:...
These little window dwellers, in cottages and halls, were always entertaining to me; after dancing in the window all day from sunrise to sunset they would sip of the tea, drink of the beer, and eat of the sugar, and be welcome all summer long.