The Poetical Works

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Bell & Daldy, 1866 - Irish poetry - 185 pages
 

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Page 73 - Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. The busy sylphs surround their darling care, These set the head, and those divide the hair, Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown ; And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own. CANTO II. NOT with more glories, in th...
Page 108 - Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And loose from dross the silver runs below.
Page 93 - A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH BY the blue taper's trembling light, No more I waste the wakeful night, Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o'er : Their books from wisdom widely stray, Or point at best the longest way. I'll seek a readier path, and go Where wisdom's surely taught below. How deep yon azure dyes the sky, Where orbs of gold unnumber'd...
Page 72 - And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
Page 106 - Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in ; Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, He hursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
Page 72 - Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; The fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace. And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
Page 15 - I want you, and that however your business may depend upon any other, my business depends entirely upon you, and yet still I hope you will find your man, even though I lose you the mean while. At this time the more I love you, the more I can spare you ; which alone will, I dare say, be a reason to you, to let me have you back the sooner.
Page 25 - Yet, spite of all that Nature did To make his uncouth form forbid, This creature dar'd to love. He felt the charms of EDITH'S eyes, Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, Could ladies look within...
Page 54 - ... and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of Martial, the first line recalls the whole, and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in Catullus, has its merit; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It is sufficient to run over Cowley once; but Parnell, after the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as at the first.
Page 53 - ... unlike prose the more they resemble poetry; they have adopted a language of their own, and call upon mankind for admiration. All those who do not understand them are silent, and those who make out their meaning are willing to praise, to show they understand.

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