Wayside warblings: and other poems

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Thomas Bosworth, 1868 - 344 pages
 

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Page 287 - Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Then, heigh, ho*! the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp, As friend remembered not.
Page 257 - Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest ; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides ; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand ; Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe ; Like other charmers, wooing the caress...
Page 24 - For as the husbandman soweth much seed upon the ground, and planteth many trees, and yet the thing that is sown good in his season cometh not up...
Page 31 - But coldness dwells within thy heart, A cloud is on thy brow. We have been friends together...
Page 5 - ... it is appointed unto all men once to die, and after death the judgment,' the certainty must be appalling.
Page 237 - Some beings, wheresoe'er they go, Find nought to please or to exalt Their constant study but to show Perpetual modes of finding fault. While others, in the ceaseless round Of daily wants and daily care, Can yet cull flowers from common ground, And twice enjoy the joy they share. Oh ! happy they who happy make, Who blessing, still themselves are blest, Who something spare for others' sake, And strive in all things for the best.
Page 25 - O thou Adam, what hast thou done? for though it was thou that sinned, thou art not fallen alone, but we all that come of thee.
Page 73 - O why should I gaze with such tender delight, On thy fair, but insensible face? What gentle enchantment possesses thy beam, Beyond the warm sunshine of day? Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream, Where dances thy tremulous ray. Canst thou the sad heart of its sorrow beguile...
Page 269 - ON A ROSE. How short, sweet flower, have all thy beauties been, An hour they bloom'd, and now no more are seen -- So human grandeur fades, so dies away ; Beauty and wealth remain but for a day. But virtue lives for ever in the mind, In her alone true happiness we find : The perfume stays, altho' the rose be dead ; So virtue lives, when every grace is fled.
Page 42 - Thou even seek'st the dungeon drear ; If Hades mourns its cureless pain, ' Tis that thou hast not entered there. I see thy seraph-form repel The plaint, the sigh, the vain despair, O'er the dark future throw a spell, And show thy rainbow mildly fair. When wasting griefs o'erweigh the soul, And chimes the hour that sets it free, Thou point'st afar th' Elysian goal, And Death is welcome — blest by thee.

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