Jewels Gathered from Painter & Poet

Cassell, Petter, and Galpin, 1865 - 79 pagina's
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Pagina 57 - The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Pagina 78 - From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead.
Pagina 57 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Pagina 70 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes; As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Pagina 79 - Excites us to arms With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Of the thundering drum Cries: "Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!
Pagina 13 - What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year I Delightful visitant ! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.
Pagina 5 - Know'st thou not me ?" the Deep Voice cried ; " So long enjoyed, so oft misused, — Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused ? " Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away, And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay. " Redeem mine hours — the space is brief— While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief When TIME and thou shall part for ever!
Pagina 74 - The throssil whusslit in the wood, The burn sang to the trees, And we with Nature's heart in tune, Concerted harmonies ; And on the knowe abune the burn, For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith WT very gladness grat.
Pagina 7 - Now nought was heard beneath the skies, The sounds of busy life were still, Save an unhappy lady's sighs, That issued from that lonely pile.
Pagina 9 - How far less blest am I than them, Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air. " Nor, cruel Earl ! can I enjoy The humble charms of solitude ; Your minions proud my peace destroy, By sullen frowns, or pratings rude. " Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, The village death-bell smote my ear ; They winked aside, and seemed to say : 'Countess, prepare — thy end is near.

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