The Rural Muse: Poems

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Whittaker, 1835 - English poetry - 175 pages
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Page 128 - And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue; And there I witnessed, in the summer hours, A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.
Page 83 - Above the russet clods, the corn is seen Sprouting its spiry points of tender green, Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake, Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break. Opening their golden caskets to the sun, The buttercups make schoolboys eager run, To see who shall be first to pluck the prize Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies, And o'er her half-formed nest, with happy wings Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings, Then hangs a...
Page 86 - As some must come to all, I'll wish not that they were not so, Nor mourn that they befall : If tears for sorrows start at will, They're comforts in their kind, And I am blest, if with me still — Remains a quiet mind. When friends depart, as part they must. And love's true joys decay, That leave us like the summer's dust The whirlwind puffs away ; While life's allotted time I brave, Though left the last behind, A prop and friend I still shall have, If I've a quiet mind.
Page 40 - When thunders roared aloud. It started not to hear the crash, But held its little hand Up, at the lightning's fearful flash, To catch the burning brand. The tender mother stayed her breath In more than grief awhile, To think the thing that brought its death Should cause her babe to smile...
Page 21 - Life's sweetest pleasure gives? Go, pluck the summer flower, And see how long it lives: Behold, the rays glide on, Along the summer plain, Ere thou canst say, they're gone, And measure beauty's reign.
Page 98 - When its hopes are all gone by ; As frail rose-blossoms still retain Their fragrance when they die...
Page 11 - To note on hedgerow baulks, in moisture sprent, The jetty snail creep from the mossy thorn, With earnest heed, and tremulous intent, Frail brother of the morn, That from the tiny bents and misted leaves Withdraws his timid horn, And fearful vision weaves...
Page 173 - I dwell in trifles like a child, I feel as ill becomes a man, And still my thoughts like weedlings wild Grow up to blossom where they can.
Page 117 - Nest Fixed in a whitethorn bush, its summer guest, So low e'en grass o'er-topped its tallest twig, A sedge-bird built its little benty nest, Close by the meadow pool and wooden brig...
Page 78 - Then, to the heath-bell's purple hood they fly, And like to princes in their slumbers lie, Secure from rain, and dropping dews, and all, In silken beds and roomy painted hall. So merrily they spend their summer-day, Now in the corn-fields, now the new-mown hay.

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