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Page 352 - For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell, Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Page 444 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended; and, I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise, and true perfection ! — Peace, hoa ! The moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awaked ! [Music ceases.
Page 441 - Breathes there a man, with soul so dead Who never to himself has said, ' This is my own, my native land...
Page 38 - ... rushes of the liquid lake. The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms, Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms. Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, Struck not the city with so loud a shout ; Not when with English hate they did pursue A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew; Not when the welkin rung with ' one and all ;' And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall ; Earth seemed to sink beneath, and heaven above to fall.
Page 197 - And greedily sucks in th' unfaithful food ; Then downward plunges with the fraudful prey, And bears with joy the little spoil away ; Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mistake, Lashes the wave, and beats the foamy lake, With sudden rage he now aloft appears, And in his eye convulsive anguish bears ; And now again, impatient of the wound, He rolls and...
Page 352 - Yet are ye not, Sporting in tree and air, more beautiful Than the young lambs, that from the valley-side Send a soft bleating like an infant's voice, Half happy, half afraid ! O blessed things ! At sight of this your perfect innocence, The sterner thoughts of manhood melt away Into a mood as mild as woman's dreams.
Page 197 - Now hope exalts the fisher's beating heart, Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art ; He views the tumbling fish with longing eyes, While the line stretches with th...
Page 197 - Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mistake, lashes the wave, and beats the foamy lake ; With sudden rage he now aloft appears, And in his eye convulsive anguish bears ; And now again, impatient of the wound, He rolls and wreathes his shining body round ; Then headlong shoots beneath the dashing tide, The trembling fins the boiling wave divide.
Page 56 - Of a' the games that e'er I saw, Man, callant, laddie birkie wean. The dearest, far aboon them a', Was aye the witching channel stane.