The remains of Henry Kirke White [ed.] with an acount of his life by R. Southey, Band 2

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Seite 130 - Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired ; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee ; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Seite 198 - THE Lord descended from above, And bowed the heavens most high ; And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. 2 On cherub and on cherubim, Full royally he rode ; And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad.
Seite 128 - I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The star '.—The Star of Bethlehem ! V. A HYMN. O LOKD, my God, in mercy turn, In mercy hear a sinner mourn ! To thee I call, to thee I cry, 0 leave me, leave me not to die...
Seite 125 - And wilt thou bend a listening ear, To praises low as ours ? Thou wilt ! for thou dost love to hear The song which meekness pours.
Seite 127 - Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark.
Seite 205 - And here it may not be amiss to observe, that the true sublime does not consist of high-sounding words, or pompous magnificence; on the contrary, it most frequently appears clad in native dignity and simplicity, without art, and without ornament. The most elegant critic of antiquity, Longinus, in his Treatise on the Sublime, adduces the following passage from the Book of Genesis, as possessing that quality in an eminent degree : " God said let there be light, and there was light : — Let the earth...
Seite 52 - In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity, in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved ; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life.
Seite 193 - Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme With self-rewarding toil, thus far have sung Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem The lyre which I in early days have strung ; And now my spirits faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour, On the dark cypress ! and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no more.
Seite 31 - And many a month had pass'd away, And many a rolling year, But nothing the maid from Palestine Could of her lover hear. Full oft she vainly tried to pierce The Ocean's misty face ; Full oft she thought her lover's bark She on the wave could trace. And every night she placed a light In the high rock's lonely tower, To guide her lover to the land, Should the murky tempest lower.
Seite 154 - ... barbarism, and once barbaric states Swaying the wand of science and of arts ; Illustrious deeds and memorable names Blotted from record, and upon the tongue Of grey Tradition voluble no more ! Where are the heroes of the ages past ? — Where the brave chieftains, where the mighty ones Who flourished in the infancy of days...

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