The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke White: Also Containing His Melancholy Hours

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Phillips, Sampson, and Company, 1855 - 470 pages
 

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Page 227 - Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. 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.
Page 224 - Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem.
Page 24 - Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring,* And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science...
Page 224 - It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star, the Star of Bethlehem.
Page 24 - So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart : Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel ; While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Page 95 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. 'But not the praise...
Page 333 - O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away. Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid.
Page 156 - Thee, when young spring first questioned winter's sway. And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance.
Page 162 - ... Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands, And thou dost bear within thine awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet, Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud, and wind, Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon, Or on the red wing of the fierce Monsoon, Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. ' In the drear silence of the polar span Dost thou repose ? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? Vain...

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