Eighteenth Century English Romantic Poetry: (up Till the Publication of the "Lyrical Ballads," 1798)

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. Champion, 1924 - English poetry - 260 pages

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Page 82 - Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that...
Page 187 - Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore...
Page 152 - And thou who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, By night and lonely contemplation led To wander in the gloomy walks of fate, — Hark ! how the sacred calm that breathes around Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease ; In still small accents whispering from the ground A grateful earnest of eternal peace.
Page 155 - Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head...
Page 77 - How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Page 157 - But who can paint Like Nature? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ? Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, And lose them in each other, as appears In every bud that blows...
Page 93 - Glorious th' assembled fires appear ; Glorious the comet's train : Glorious the trumpet and alarm ; Glorious th' almighty stretched-out arm ; Glorious th' enraptured main : Glorious the northern lights astream ; Glorious the song, when God's the theme ; Glorious the thunder's roar : Glorious hosanna from the den; Glorious the catholic amen ; Glorious the martyr's gore : Glorious — more glorious is the crown Of Him that brought...
Page 173 - Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Page 173 - To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 183 - Theirs is yon House, that holds the parish poor, Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; There, where the putrid vapours, flagging, play, And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day ;— There children dwell who know no parents' care; Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there!

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