Dartmoor, a descriptive poem, with notes by W. Burt

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Page 195 - Here lies hard by James Oxenham, the son of the said John, who died a child in his cradle a little after, and such a bird was seen fluttering about his head a little before he expired, which vanished afterwards.
Page 195 - At the bottom of the stone there is : Here lies ELIZABETH OXENHAM the mother of the said John, who died sixteen years since, when such a bird with a white breast was seen about her bed before her death.
Page 106 - Regions like this, which have come down to us rude and untouched from the beginning of time, fill the mind with grand conceptions, far beyond the efforts of art and cultivation. Impressed by such views of nature, our ancestors worshipped the God of nature in those boundless scenes, which gave them the highest notions of eternity.
Page 21 - Nothing that has life Is visible ; — no solitary flock, At will wide ranging through the silent Moor, Breaks the deep-felt monotony ; and all Is motionless, save where the giant shades, Flung by the passing cloud, glide slowly o'er The gray and gloomy wild.
Page 194 - Here lies John Oxenham, a goodly young- man, in whose chamber, as he was struggling with the pangs of death, a bird with a white breast was seen fluttering about his bed, and so vanished.
Page 189 - Dartmoor,' to climb to the summit of this cliff; for "he who has sufficient nerve to gaze from the Dewerstone into the frightful depth beneath, will be amply remunerated for the trouble which may be experienced in ascending. The rocks immediately beneath the view seem as if they had been struck at once by a thousand thunderbolts, and appear only prevented from bursting asunder by chains of ivy. A few wild flowers are sprinkled about in the crevices of the cliff, tufts of broom wave like golden banners...
Page 108 - The roaring of these torrents after heavy rains, and when the wind favours its transmission, is sublime to a degree inconceivable by those who have never heard their impressive music in a wild and solitary district.
Page 95 - Earth Reposes in the sun-set. Let me gaze At the great vision ere it pass ; for now The day-god hovers o'er the western hill, And sheds his last fond ray. Farewell ! farewell ! Who givest beauty to the cloud, and light — Joy, music, to the earth ! And must yon tints And shapes divine which thou hast formed, decay, — The mountain, and the temple, and the tower, That float in yonder fields of air ; — the isles Of all surpassing loveliness ; and seas Of glorious emerald, that seem to flow Around...
Page 41 - Strengthen'd th' indissoluble charm that wound Itself round their young hearts. Thy skies are blue, Fair Provence, and thy streams are clear and fringed By the lush vine, that in thy quiet vales Hangs out its full frank clusters, glowing deep With richest amethystine tint ; and thou Hast songs of witching minstrelsy from bowers Of fragrance ; and, amid the deepening shade Of groves, sweet cots — abodes of health and peace, By woodbine, rose, and myrtle sweetly deck'd.
Page 8 - Into the foaming torrent ! And of forms That rose amid the desert, rudely shaped By Superstition's hands when time was young...

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