The British Poets, Band 2

Little, Brown & Company, 1866

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Seite 249 - My hopes are with the Dead ; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity ; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.
Seite 248 - Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
Seite 191 - So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng ; So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they ; That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the Holly Tree.
Seite 170 - William," the young man cried. ' ' And pleasures with youth pass away ; And yet you lament not the days that are gone ; Now tell me the reason, I pray.
Seite 190 - And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
Seite 200 - Resolved, their uses done. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved, The spirit is not there...
Seite 178 - I thee, thou busy, busy Bee. Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Late and early at employ ; Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent What thy winter will never enjoy ; Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee ! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee ! What is the end of thy toil.
Seite 192 - The unlabour'd boat falls rapidly along ; The solitary helmsman sits to guide, And sings an idle song. Now o'er the rocks that lay So silent late the shallow current roars ; Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way, Through wider-spreading shores.
Seite 144 - The unfeeling discipline of schools, In thought he loves to roam ; And tears will struggle in his eye While he remembers with a sigh The comforts of his home.
Seite 106 - Blue-lipt, an ice-drop at thy sharp blue nose, Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way, Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows. They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth, Old Winter! seated in thy great...

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