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beam beauty birds blossom bosom bowers breast breath bright brightly brow busy Bee Butterfly child churchyard clouds comes—he comes—the Frost comes—the Frost Spirit Conwy dark dead dear death delight doth dream dwell dwelleth dwelleth God earth fair FAKENHAM fear feet flowers Frost Spirit comes gentle goblin gone grace green happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven Helvellyn Holy Ground hour infant Jesus joyous Lark light Little maiden look look'd Lord lov'd lyre maid mother mountains nest never nigh night o'er pain pass'd peace Pebble praise pray prayer rest rill rocks rose round Sabbath scene seraph shade shine sigh sing smile song sorrow soul sparrow Spring is coming sprite storm stream summer sunny sweet SWEETBRIER tarn tell tempest tender thee thine thou art thou busy thought to-morrow toil tree voice warbling wert wing wrapp'd young
Page 57 - Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Page 34 - Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Page 81 - You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." " Their graves are green, they may be seen...
Page 56 - When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where universal love not smiles around...
Page 80 - I met a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.
Page 36 - I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine : And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Page 81 - Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother.
Page 51 - O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.