Popular Poetry: a selection of pieces old and new, adapted for general use
Burns & Lambert, 1862 - English poetry - 220 pages
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bear beauty bells bird bless blow boys breast breath bright busy cheerful child close clouds cold comes creeping dark dear death deep delight dwell earth eyes face fair fall fear fire flowers gentle give golden gone grave green grow hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hill hope hour land leaves light live lonely look meet merry morn mountain nature never night o'er once past peace play poor rain rest rise rocks round sail scene seen side sigh silent sing sleep smile snow soft song soul sound spread Spring star storm stream summer sweet tears tell thee things thou thought tree true voice warm wave weary wide wild wind wing WINTER woods young
Page 184 - Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells Of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells In the clamor...
Page 184 - Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple...
Page 63 - You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing.
Page 74 - O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt. Among Arabian sands...
Page 87 - Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.
Page 183 - Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire...
Page 108 - He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; .' It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. '' My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled ; 4.
Page 137 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Page 109 - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Page 183 - Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ; — how it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells...