Poems of Cornwall

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William Herbert Thomas
F. Rodda, 1892 - Cornwall - 167 pages
 

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Page 159 - Thus saith the ocean chime : Storm, billow, whirlwind past, "Come to thy God at last !
Page 9 - SPLENDID SPUR NOT on the neck of prince or hound, Nor on a woman's finger twined, May gold from the deriding ground Keep sacred that we sacred bind: Only the heel Of splendid steel Shall stand secure on sliding fate, When golden navies weep their freight.
Page 158 - Bottreaux' echoes still ? Her tower stands proudly on the hill : — Yet the strange chough that home hath found, The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. Come to thy God in time ! Should be her answering chime, — Come to thy God at last ! Should echo on the blast.
Page 158 - Come to thy God in time ! It was his marriage chime : — Youth, manhood, old age, past, His bell must ring at last ! Thank God, thou whining knave, on land ! But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand, The captain's voice above the gale, — Thank the good ship and ready sail ! Come to thy God in time ! Sad grew the boding chime : Come to thy God at last...
Page 13 - The would-be-evening should-be-mourning suit, The forged solicitude for petty wants More petty still than they, — all these I loathe, Learning they lie who feign that all things come To him that waiteth. I have waited long, And now I go, to mate me with a bride Who is aweary waiting, even as I!' But when the amorous moon of honeycomb Was over, ere the matron-flower of Love — Step-sister of To-morrow's marmalade — Swooned scentless, Mariana found her lord Did something jar the nicer feminine...
Page 152 - Majestic Michael rises : He whose brow Is crowned with castles, and whose rocky sides Are clad with dusky ivy : He whose base, Beat by the storms of ages, stands unmoved Amidst the wreck of things, — the change of time. That base, encircled by the azure waves, Was once with verdure clad ; the low'ring oaks There waved their branches green, — the sacred oaks Whose awful shades among the Druids stray'd To cut the hallowed miseltoe, and hold High converse with their Gods.
Page 158 - Thank God, thou whining knave, on land, But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand," The captain's voice above the gale: "Thank the good ship and ready sail." " Come to thy God in time ! " Sad grew the boding chime : " Come to % God at last !
Page 158 - The death-groans of his sinking ship ! " Come to thy God in time ! " Swung deep the funeral chime. "Grace, mercy, kindness, past, Come to thy God at last...
Page 47 - Peak-point and plain below, The red, round sun sinks in the purple west ; Lambs press their daisy bed, The lark drops overhead, And sings the labourer, hastening home to rest. Bathed in the ruddy light, Flooding his native height, A youthful bard is stretched upon the moss ; He heedeth not the eve Whose locks the elfins weave, Entranced with Shakespeare near a Cornish Cross.
Page 12 - Such the joy When English-hearted Edwin swore his faith With Mariana of the Moated Grange. For Edwin, plump head-waiter at The Cock, Grown sick of custom, spoilt of plenitude, Lacking the finer wit that saith, " I wait, They come; and if I make them wait, they go...

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