Poems (Google eBook)

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Charles Griffin, 1865 - 168 pages
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Page 13 - I cannot but think myself singularly obliged by a gentleman with whom I have not the pleasure of being acquainted, when I read your very curious and kind letter, which I have this minute received.
Page 267 - In the brier'd dell below; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing To the nightmares, as they go: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true love's shroud...
Page 267 - My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree. See! the white moon shines on high; Whiter is my true love's shroud: Whiter than the morning sky, Whiter than the evening cloud: My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree.
Page 27 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night. Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again. From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure; and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown grey in vain— Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Page 127 - Catcott is very fond of talk and fame — His wish a perpetuity of name ; Which to procure, a pewter altar's made, To bear his name, and signify his trade ; In pomp burlesqued the rising spire to head, To tell futurity a pewterer's dead.
Page 17 - ... he has his own reasons for so doing, and is prudent. Need I remind you of the contrast ? The poverty of authors is a common observation, but not always a true one. No author can be poor who understands the arts of booksellers ; without this necessary knowledge the greatest genius may starve, and with it the greatest dunce live in splendour. This knowledge I have pretty well dipped into.
Page 205 - Before him went the council-men, In scarlet robes and gold, And tassels spangling in the sun, Much glorious to behold...
Page 111 - WHAT is war and all its joys ? Useless mischief, empty noise. What are arms and trophies won ? Spangles glittering in the sun. Rosy Bacchus, give me wine, Happiness is only thine ! What is love without the bowl? 'Tis a languor of the soul : Crown'd with ivy, Venus charms, Ivy courts me to her arms. Bacchus, give me love and wine, Happiness is only thine ! THE VIRGIN S CHOICE.
Page 14 - As a second edition of my Anecdotes was published last year, I must not flatter myself that a third will be wanted soon, but I shall be happy to lay up any notices you will be so good as to extract for me, and send me at your leisure; for as it is uncertain when I may use them, I would by no means borrow and detain your MSS. "Give me leave to ask you, where Rowley's poems are to be found. I should not be sorry to print them, or at least a specimen of them, if they have never been printed.
Page 202 - I do weep, That thou so soon must die, And leave thy sons and helpless wife ; . .. 'Tis this that wets mine eye.

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