Winscombe sketches of country life and scenery amongst the mendip hills

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William Poole, 1882 - Mendip Hills (England) - 80 pages
 

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Page 27 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed...
Page 180 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank* Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines...
Page 146 - THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of THEE. Forth in the pleasing Spring THY beauty walks, THY tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Page 116 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Page 122 - Thrice welcome, darling of the spring; Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing; A voice, a mystery...
Page 143 - If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.— That strain again;— it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour.— Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Page 116 - Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds...
Page 170 - We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition : And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here ; And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day.
Page 16 - THE Danube to the Severn gave The darken'd heart that beat no more ; They laid him by the pleasant shore, And in the hearing of the wave. There twice a day the Severn fills ; The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.

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