Sketches of Rural Life: And Other Poems

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Macmillan, 1889 - 157 pages

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Page 118 - When hungry fowl go roosting soon, And nightly shines the crystal moon O'er silent rills, And icy winds their bugles blow, And crisping sheet the powdery snow Out o'er the hills; Then merrily, merrily trim the fire, Merrily troll about the bowl, And merrily sing to your heart's desire; For to solace the winter lack There's nothing so good as song and sack; So merrily, merrily trim the fire. LUCAS COLLINS. 11OTTO nYP. TtbpVtOV f^> aiyr)\bi> ^ r av\tt Kfivcpu, KjOt/uvoi/ <>i< A i/ Xii' Kara KoAwpuii'...
Page 25 - And oh for the wood, the moan of the wood, When the cold is waxing strong, And the gray sod shrinks as the dry wind bites, And about the tracks like troubled sprites The dead leaves troop along.
Page 23 - Oh ! the woodman's wages are sure and good, His tool is keen and his arm is strong, And though the weather be never so rude, Lustily in the lonely wood He labours all day long, And now and then wakes up the hills With a bit of an old song. Of lop and top he gets his share To furnish his winter's store, And a faggot or two he...
Page 62 - In a voice of human woe, Thus, methinks, they speak to me. What we bring we may not know, What we leave we cannot see, Thus we perish in bestowing ; Tell us then, for we are going, Is the green sward always green, And is there always the overflowing Of the perfume of the bean, And the sweet smell of the young wheat growing Under the twilight sheen ? Hark to the chilly night-wind blowing, Mighty June is hastening on, Adieu ! adieu ! for we are gone.
Page 83 - I hope she's well away; But such a night to be out on the sea, Oh ! keep her safe, I pray. When moon and stars show never a speck To be seen through the rolling clouds, And the waves rush over the good ship's deck, And mount into the shrouds ; And the boatswain's voice is all blown back, And the water gains in the hold ; O God ! have mercy on my brother Jack, For he's so young and bold.
Page 63 - Dear sad evenings of the May, Shivering as they steal away. How this wondrous life of ours, Equipped for all sublime endeavour, With all its light and all its powers, Yearning, glowing, striving ever, Loves these evenings of the May, And to what their cold lips say, Sends back an answer of good cheer.
Page 111 - O THOU by whom the vales of Mincio Are vocal to all time ! And can it be That my dear father speaks again to me, Whispering those words of thine which he loved so ? Something far holier than life's common flow Comes in that memory coupling him with thee. The glories which the circling year leads out Rest nowhere, few abiding glories are.
Page 5 - To grind another day. Yonder he stands at the door of the mill, Leaning over the hatch ; And let the wicked world wag as it will, In the mighty struggle 'twixt good and ill, Be sure that the miller will furnish still His best for the baker's batch.
Page 84 - And if they're obliged to lower the boat, He'll be the last to get in. And my father went tired to bed, I know, And I hope he's fast asleep; But my mother she stays at her work below That he may not hear her weep.
Page 102 - tis not man's wisdom nor man's praise, Nor the poor dross which the world counts for gain, Nor influence reaching wide as the sun's rays, Nor even requited love, that can maintain The soul amid her manifold decays...

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