The annals of my village: being a calendar of nature, for every month in the year. By the author of 'Select female biography'.

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1831
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Page 192 - Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially — beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked With unrejoicing berries — ghostly Shapes May meet at noontide ; Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight ; Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow...
Page 1 - Than those of age ; thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way ; I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest, And dreaded as thou art.
Page 244 - Whose midnight revels, by a forest side Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while over head the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Page 42 - Give ye ear, and hear my voice ; hearken, and hear my speech. Doth the plowman plow all day to sow? doth he open and break the clods of his ground? When he hath made plain the face thereof, doth he not cast abroad the fitches, and scatter the cummin, and cast in the principal wheat and the appointed barley and the rye in their place? For his God doth instruct him to discretion, and doth teach him.
Page 115 - A bird's nest. Mark it well ! — within, without ; No tool had he that wrought — no knife to cut, No nail to fix — no bodkin to insert — No glue to join ; his little beak was all. And yet how neatly finished ! What nice hand. With every implement and means of art, And twenty years...
Page 262 - TwAs a lovely thought to mark the hours, As they floated in light away, By the opening and the folding flowers, That laugh to the summer's day.
Page 334 - Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, And seizes Nature fast. It freezes on; Till morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, Lifts her pale eye unjoyous.
Page 192 - There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore : Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland's heaths ; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.
Page 192 - But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved...
Page 161 - O God, O good beyond compare, If thus thy meaner works are fair, If thus thy bounties gild the span Of ruined earth and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee.

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