West-country Poets: Their Lives and Works. Being an Account of about Four Hundred Verse Writers of Devon and Cornwall, with Poems and Extracts

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E. Stock, 1896 - English literature - 492 pages
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Page 298 - When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed among; God grant you find one face there, You loved when all was young.
Page 192 - Unblamed thro' life, lamented in thy End. These are thy Honours ! not that here thy bust Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy dust: But that the Worthy and the Good shall say. Striking their pensive bosoms — 'Here lies GAY!
Page 446 - Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay, Sweetly breathe thyself away : Singing, to thy crown remove, Swift of wing, and fired with love.
Page 107 - To make the shifting clouds be what you please, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend's fancy ; or with head bent low And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold 'Twixt crimson banks ; and then, a traveller, go From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land! Or...
Page 193 - Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days. Why didst thou, vent'rous lover, Why didst thou trust the seas? Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean, And let my lover rest: Ah! what's thy troubled motion To that within my breast? The merchant, robbed of pleasure, Sees tempests in despair; But what's the loss of treasure To losing of my dear?
Page 240 - Her tower stands proudly on the hill, Yet the strange chough that home hath found, The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. Come to thy God in time ! Should be her answering chime. Come to thy God at last ! Should echo on the blast.
Page 113 - Sings endless songs, himself unseen ; Right seldom come his silent times. Linger, ye summer hours serene ! Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes ! May I not dream God sends thee there, Thou mellow angel of the air, Even to rebuke my earthlier rhymes With music's soul, all praise and prayer? Is that thy lesson in the limes ? Closer to God art thou than I ; His minstrel thou, whose brown wings fly Through silent aether's sunnier climes. Ah, never may thy music die! Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes...
Page 447 - See the haven full in view ; Love Divine shall bear thee through ; Trust to that propitious gale ; Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail. Saints, in glory perfect made, Wait thy passage through the shade : Ardent for thy coming o'er, See, they throng the blissful shore ! Mount, their transports to improve ; Join the longing choir above ; Swiftly to their wish be given ; Kindle higher joy in Heaven ! Such the prospects that arise To the dying Christian's eyes ; Such the glorious vista faith Opens through...
Page 315 - Must Lady Jenny frisk about, And visit with her cousins ? At balls must she make all the rout, And bring home hearts by dozens ? What has she better, pray, than I ? What hidden charms to boast, That all mankind for her should die, Whilst I am scarce a toast...
Page 58 - Underneath this sable hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sydney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair and learned and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee...

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