The Landscape annual [afterw.] Jennings' landscape annual [ed. by R. Jennings].

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Robert Jennings
1832
 

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Seite 114 - Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and, as the ranks ascend, Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
Seite 161 - Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water seem to strive again ! Not, chaos-like, together crush'd and bruis'd, But, as the world, harmoniously confus'd : Where order in variety we see, And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
Seite 1 - Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows, richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
Seite 139 - All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree. Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring ; The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours Thither all their bounties bring.
Seite 29 - I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips ' and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with lush ' woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Seite 247 - Let us go round; And let the sail be slack, the course be slow, That at our leisure, as we coast along, We may contemplate, and from every scene Receive its influence.
Seite 245 - THIS region, surely, is not of the earth.* Was it not dropt from heaven ? Not a grove, Citron or pine or cedar, not a grot . Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine, But breathes enchantment. Not a cliff but flings On the clear wave some image of delight, Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers, Some ruined temple or fallen monument, To muse on as the bark is gliding by.
Seite 240 - O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light, No bird presumes to steer his airy flight; Such deadly stenches from the depth arise, And steaming sulphur, that infects the skies.
Seite 65 - Crossed by the deer. Then to the Ladies' Vale ; And the clear lake, that as by magic seemed To lift up to the surface every stone Of lustre there, and the diminutive fish Innumerable, dropt with crimson and gold, Now motionless, now glancing to the sun. Who has not dwelt on their voluptuous day ? The morning banquet by the...

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