The Village Patriarch: A Poemauthor, 1829 - 198 pàgines |
Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
Frases i termes més freqüents
Albert bore Alice Green ancient Art thou beauty Behold beneath blind bosom bow'd brain bread breast bright Briton brow burning ceas'd chang'd cheek child cloud cold corn-law corncrake cottage curse dark death deathless died dreadful dust earth Enoch Wray eyes Father fear feel fire flower foam grave grief hand Hark hast hate hath hear heart heav'n hill hope jacobinism Jane King labour land laugh living look'd Lord lov'd lyre moorland morn mountains mute ne'er night o'er ORRIDGE pain pale pangs parish pauper poor pride proud red vengeance rock roll'd scorn sea of souls seem'd shake shalt shame shriek sire slaves smile snow sorrow soul soul'd stone stream sublime sweet tears tell thee thine thought toil tree trembled turn'd vernal fields vex'd VILLAGE PATRIARCH voice waste waves weep Whigs wild wild bank wind-flower wings Workhouse wretch
Passatges populars
Pàgina 68 - Behold his failings ! hath he virtues, too ? He is no pauper, blackguard though he be. Full well he knows what minds combined can do, Full well maintains his birthright — He is free ! And, frown for frown, outstares monopoly ! Yet Abraham and Elliot, both in vain,* Bid science on his cheek prolong the bloom ; He...
Pàgina 31 - And hark! the chimes of morning die away: Hark! to the heart the solemn sweetness steals, Like the heart's voice, unfelt by none who feels That God is Love, that Man is living Dust; Unfelt by none whom ties of brotherhood Link to his kind; by none who puts his trust In nought of Earth that hath survived the Flood, Save those mute charities, by which the good Strengthen poor worms, and serve their Maker best.
Pàgina 65 - Flowers peep, trees bud, boughs tremble, rivers run ; The redwing saith, it is a glorious morn. Blue are thy Heavens, thou Highest ! and thy sun Shines without cloud, all...
Pàgina 67 - On tawny sands, through regions passion-wild, And groves of love, in jealous beauty dark, Complains the Porter, Nature's thwarted child, Born in the waste, like headlong Wiming? Hark ! The poised hawk calls thee, Village Patriarch ! He calls thee to his mountains ! Up, away ! Up, up, to Stanedge ! higher still ascend, Till kindred rivers, from the summit...
Pàgina 68 - Dash.d in white foam the swift circumference o'er There draws the Grinder his laborious breath; There coughing at his deadly trade he bends: Born to die young, he fears nor man nor death; Scorning the future, what he earns he spends; Debauch and riot are his bosom friends.
Pàgina 69 - Pauper, blackguard though he be: Full well he knows what minds combined can do, Full well maintains his birthright: he is free, And, frown for frown, outstares monopoly. Yet Abraham and Elliot both in vain Bid science on his cheek prolong the bloom : He will not live! He seems in haste to gain The undisturb'd asylum of the tomb. And, old at two-and-thirty, meets his doom! Or this, ' of Jem, the rogue avowed,
Pàgina 2 - But much he dreads the town's distracting maze, Where all, to him, is full of change and pain. New streets invade the country ; and he strays, Lost in strange paths, still seeking, and in vain, For ancient landmarks, or the lonely lane Where oft he play'd at Crusoe, when a boy.
Pàgina 77 - As o'er the deep repose, sublimely slow, He wheels in conscious majesty abroad. Spirits should make the desert their abode. The meekest, purest, mightiest, that e'er wore Dust as a garment, stole from crowds unbless'd To sea-like forests, or the sea-beat shore, And utter'd, on the star-sought mountain's breast, The holiest precepts e'er to dust address'd.
Pàgina 32 - Or chasing the too-venturous gilded fly. So by the daisy's side he spends the hours, Renewing friendship with the budding bowers : And while might, beauty, good without alloy, Are mirror'd in his children's happy eyes,—• In His great Temple offering thankful joy To Him, the infinitely Great and Wise, With soul attuned to Nature's harmonies, Serene and cheerful as a sporting child,— His heart refuses to believe that man Could turn into a hell the blooming wild, The blissful country where his...
Pàgina 7 - Like flute notes in a storm, the psalm ascends From yonder pile, in traffic's dirtiest street! There hapless woman at her labour bends, While with the rattling fly her shrill voice blends ; And ever, as she cuts the headless nail, She sings, ' I waited long, and sought the Lord, And patiently did bear.