The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke White

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Bell and Daldy, 1860 - Bookbinding - 228 pages
 

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Page 172 - 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 183 - When, marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky, One Star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. 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 182 - 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.
Page 131 - And hark ! the wind-god, as he flies, Moans hollow in the forest trees, And sailing on the gusty breeze, Mysterious music dies. Sweet flower ! that requiem wild is mine, It warns me to the lonely shrine, The cold turf altar of the dead ; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, Where as I lie, by all forgot, A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed.
Page 178 - My woes are mixed with joy. And then I talk, and often think Aerial voices answer me; And oh ! I am not then alone — A solitary man: And when the blustering winter winds Howl in the woods that clothe my cave, I lay me on my lonely mat, And pleasant are my dreams. And Fancy gives me back my wife ; And Fancy gives me back my child ; She gives me back my little home, And all its placid joys. Then hateful is the morning hour, That calls me from the dream of bliss, To find myself still lone, and hear...
Page 104 - 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. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the...
Page 183 - And Jesus, Thou Thy smiles wilt deign, As we before Thee pray ; For Thou didst bless the infant train, And we are less than they.
Page 125 - HARK ! how the merry bells ring jocund round, And now they die upon the veering breeze ; Anon they thunder loud Full on the musing ear. Wafted in varying cadence, by the shore Of the still twinkling river, they bespeak A day of jubilee, An ancient holiday. And, lo ! the rural revels are begun, And gaily echoing to the laughing sky, On the smooth.shaven green, Resounds the voice of Mirth.
Page 61 - DESCRIPTION OF A SUMMER'S EVE. Doww the sultry arc of day The burning wheels have urged their way, And eve along the western skies Spreads her intermingling dyes. Down the deep, the miry lane...
Page 21 - What are our joys but dreams ? and what our hopes But goodly shadows in the summer cloud ? There's not a wind that blows but bears with it Some rainbow promise: — Not a moment flies But puts its sickle in the fields of life, And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares.

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