Ballads and Poems from the Pacific

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Sampson Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, 1889 - New Zealand poetry - 302 pages
 

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Page 302 - My love and good wishes to good friend Edward. I try to make slowly my way of the cross, and hope soon to be on top of my Golgotha.
Page v - He was a minutely accurate delineator of the harsher aspects of rural life. He photographs a Gypsy camp ; a common, with its geese and donkey; a salt marsh, a shabby village street, or tumble-down manse. But neither Crabbe nor Cowper has the imaginative lift of Wordsworth, The light that never was, on sea or land. The consecration, and the poet's dream.
Page 275 - A mob of sheep away out there, with heads jammed close and low, A dray from the river-bed, creeping up heavy, and hot, and slow; Old Billy, the black, rounding up the cows from the swamp by the cabbage-tree, And his lubra crawling along behind, to beg for damper and tea. The cook beginning to skin a sheep, and a hawk awaiting his share; Our dandy...
Page 95 - And their unclosed eyes, so near ! so near ! That we read their story of long despair; Poor eyes that have lost all hope and fear Of the years to come, or the years that were.
Page 94 - ... on the sea of time ; Eyes that are dim with their frozen tears, Hearts far away, though the hands reach mine ; Sorrow of sorrows too great for speech !— That through all the years that are yet to come— Our souls are hidden away from each, And our hearts may break, but our lips are dumb!
Page 82 - ... bring once more, To my cold heart the swell and glow, That dear voice brought in days of yore; Sing low, sweet birds, sing soft and low! Bring back, bring back, the olden time, When we were children, she and I, And life was one long rush of rhyme; Ah! sing dear birds, sing clear and high! Time creeps or flies, and all things change; Who keepeth aught of all he had? The dear old dreams grow cold and strange; Sing low, sweet birds, sing low and sad! And who hath done what once he planned, When...
Page 81 - Oh! bring me bacn. one vanished face I lost in that thick mist of tears; Fill once again her vacant place. Once more, once more, oh! bring once more, To my cold heart the swell and glow, That dear voice brought in days of yore; Sing low, sweet birds, sing soft and low! Bring back, bring back, the olden time, When we were children, she and I, And life was one long rush of rhyme; Ah! sing dear birds, sing clear and high! Time creeps or flies, and all things change; Who keepeth aught of all he had?...
Page 82 - ... olden time, When we were children, she and I, And life was one long rush of rhyme; Ah! sing dear birds, sing clear and high! Time creeps or flies, and all things change; Who keepeth aught of all he had? The dear old dreams grow cold and strange; Sing low, sweet birds, sing low and sad! And who hath done what once he planned, When first he gaily hoisted sail, And shaped his course for his dreamland? Ah! wild birds droop your wings and wail! All — all that course is scattered o'er With cold,...
Page 83 - Haunt our low steps, and moan and cry! With outstretched hands, in dark and gloom, We grope our way we know not where; Uncertain shades beside a tomb; Oh, birds your wailing seems despair! The shadows fall and day is past. The cold white moon gleams o'er the hill; The last faint whispering notes — the last! Tremble and cease, and all is still. PHILIP GARTH. THE FUTURE IS BETTER THAN THE PAST. NOT where long passed ages sleep, Seek we Eden's golden trees, In the future folded deep...
Page 250 - Sea-king had routh o' gold, (Oh, love is warm, but gold is cauld!) An' Angus was proud, an

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