The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.1837 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 1 - 5 de 33.
Pàgina 18
... sights and sounds Recorded ? Do its annals show No taint of guilt , no trace of woe ? Ah , me ! a story they unfold Belonging to the days of old , Which costs sweet Pity to recall E'en tears of blood , - a martyr's fall ! Why pours the ...
... sights and sounds Recorded ? Do its annals show No taint of guilt , no trace of woe ? Ah , me ! a story they unfold Belonging to the days of old , Which costs sweet Pity to recall E'en tears of blood , - a martyr's fall ! Why pours the ...
Pàgina 20
... sight , almost is sanctified . Hail , holy Church ! What though thy leagued foes The war - cry raise , and round thee fiercely close , Viewing thy stately towers with jealous eye , Marking thy bulwarks only to destroy ; What though they ...
... sight , almost is sanctified . Hail , holy Church ! What though thy leagued foes The war - cry raise , and round thee fiercely close , Viewing thy stately towers with jealous eye , Marking thy bulwarks only to destroy ; What though they ...
Pàgina 27
... sight should e'er unwelcome be , Which warns me life uncertain is , and brief . Oh ! Nature , many a lesson could'st thou give Would man but list thy monitory voice ; Thou bid'st him pause , and tremblingly rejoice That he but " lives ...
... sight should e'er unwelcome be , Which warns me life uncertain is , and brief . Oh ! Nature , many a lesson could'st thou give Would man but list thy monitory voice ; Thou bid'st him pause , and tremblingly rejoice That he but " lives ...
Pàgina 45
... sight of it never fails to touch chords in our bosom which awaken the most pleasing recollections ... What can be more truly sublime , " he continues , " than to behold , opposed to the intensely blue ether , the glazed white summits of ...
... sight of it never fails to touch chords in our bosom which awaken the most pleasing recollections ... What can be more truly sublime , " he continues , " than to behold , opposed to the intensely blue ether , the glazed white summits of ...
Pàgina 53
... sight and sound of the very objects themselves ever inspire - till Fancy , freeing herself from the common- places with which she is encumbered flies to " The hollow cliff , whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream ; Whence the scar'd ...
... sight and sound of the very objects themselves ever inspire - till Fancy , freeing herself from the common- places with which she is encumbered flies to " The hollow cliff , whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream ; Whence the scar'd ...
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Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Spirit of the Woods, by the Author of 'The Moral of Flowers' Rebecca Hey Previsualització no disponible - 2016 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
adorn alder alluded amongst ancient Arbutus autumn banyan beauty beech beneath berries birch birks of Aberfeldy bloom blossoms boughs bower branches breath bright brow cedar cherry clusters crown cultivated cypress dark doth earth Evelyn evergreens fair fair brow fancy feel flowers foliage forest fragrance fruit garden genus Gilpin gives gloom glory glow graceful green ground grove grows growth hath hawthorn hazel heart heaven height holly honour LAURUS NOBILIS leaf leaves misletoe Mount Ida mountain mountain ash myrtle native nature Norway spruce o'er olive paliurus palm peace pine plant poet pyracantha rock rose sacred says scene scenery seem'd shade Shakspeare shrubs smile soil solemn song species spell spring summer sweet sylvan tears temple thee Thomas Dick Lauder thorns thou timber tint tree vine Virgil weeping whilst wild wild cherry willow wood yield
Passatges populars
Pàgina 95 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Pàgina 151 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Pàgina 92 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Pàgina 14 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Pàgina 271 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Pàgina 183 - The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between...
Pàgina 2 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Pàgina 121 - It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps...
Pàgina 173 - Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, In Desolation unrepining, Without a hope on earth to find A mirror in an answering mind, Meek souls there are, who little dream Their daily strife an Angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
Pàgina 258 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...