Elliott's Poems: The splendid village, Corn law rhymes; and other poemsB. Steill, 1833 |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Elliott's Poems: The splendid village, Corn law rhymes; and other poems Ebenezer Elliott Visualització completa - 1834 |
Elliott's Poems: The splendid village, Corn law rhymes; and other poems Ebenezer Elliott Visualització completa - 1834 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
angels art thou Baalath beauty beggar Behold beneath bless'd blush bread bread-tax bread-tax'd breast bright brow cheek clouds CORN LAW RHYMES cottage cried curse dark dead death despair dread dreams earth England fear Finger fire flower Freedom's gaze Gihon gloom glow gone grave groat hand hast hate hath havock hear heard heart heav'n high Raising hope hopeless James Watt JEREMY BENTHAM King labour land light live look look'd Lord lov'd millions night o'er ocean oppose the Corn pale pass'd pauper poem poison'd poor pride racter Rhin Rivelin rock rose Satan Satraps scorn seem'd SHEFFIELD INDEPENDENT sigh silent sire slave sleep smil'd smile soul Squire stood Striga sublime sweet tears Thane thee thine thou art thought Timna toil turn'd tyrants vale vex'd voice wave weep wept wheat wild wing workhouse worm wretch Zillah
Passatges populars
Pàgina 58 - Child, is thy father dead? Father is gone! Why did they tax his bread? God's will be done! Mother has sold her bed; Better to die than wed! Where shall she lay her head? Home we have none!
Pàgina 103 - Let there be light! ' Grim darkness felt his might, And fled away; Then startled seas and mountains cold Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold, And cried, — "'Tis day! 'tis day!''
Pàgina 123 - Let poor men's children, pleas'd to read his lays, Love, for his sake, the scenes where he hath been ; And when he ends his pilgrimage of days, Let him be buried where the grass is green ; Where daisies, blooming earliest, linger late To hear the bee his busy note prolong : — There let him slumber, and in peace await The dawning morn, far from the sensual throng, Who scorn the windflower's blush, the red-breast's lonely song.
Pàgina 178 - I cannot come, with broken heart, to sigh O'er his loved dust, and strew with flowers his turf; His pillow hath no cover but the surf; I may not pour the soul-drop from mine eye Near his cold bed : he slumbers in the wave ! Oh ! I will love the sea, because it is his grave ! LESSON XCVII.
Pàgina 216 - Methinka the orchis of the fountained wold Hath, in its well-known beauty, something new. Do I not know thy lofty disk of gold, Thou, that still woo'st the sun, with passion true ! No, splendid stranger ! haply, I have seen One not unlike thee, but with humbler mien, Watching her lord. Oh lily, fair as aught Beneath the sky ! thy pallid petals glow In evening's blush ; but evening borrows nought Of thee, thou rival of the stainless snow — For thou art scentless. Lo ! this...
Pàgina 142 - tis Morthen spire ! The sun is risen ! cries Stanedge, tipp'd with fire. On Norwood's flowers the dew-drops shine and shake; Up, sluggards, up ! and drink the morning breeze...
Pàgina 104 - Lo, heaven's bright bow is glad! Lo, trees and flowers, all clad In glory, bloom ! And shall the mortal sons of God Be senseless as the trodden clod, And darker than the tomb ? No, by the mind of man I By the swart artisan ! By God, our sire!
Pàgina 88 - Spanielsyfced, are whipp'd, and howl ; Spaniel ! thou art starved and whipp'd. Wilt thou still feed palaced knaves ? Shall thy sons be traitors' slaves ? Shall they sleep in workhouse-graves ? Shall they toil for parish-pay ? Wherefore did'st thou woo and wed ? Why a bride was Mary led ? Shall she, dying, curse thy bed ? Tyrants ! tyrants ! no, by heaven ! SQUIRE LEECH.
Pàgina 104 - all lands shall sing ; The Press, the Press we bring, All lands to bless : O pallid Want ! O Labour stark ! Behold, we bring the second ark ! The Press ! the Press ! the Press ! THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL.
Pàgina 142 - O'er subject towns, and farms, and villages, And gleaming streams, and wood, and waterfalls. Up ! climb the oak-crown'd summit ! Hoober Stand And Keppel's Pillar gaze on Wentworth's halls, And misty lakes, that brighten and expand, And distant hills, that watch the western strand. Up ! trace God's foot-prints, where they paint the mould With heavenly green, and hues that blush and glow Like angel's wings ; while skies of blue and gold Stoop to Miles Gordon on the mountain's brow.