The Poetical Works of the Late Mrs. Mary Robinson: Including Many Pieces Never Before Published. In Three Volumes, Volume 1

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R. Phillips, 1806
 

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Page 129 - Here we find that listening to the wind, and singing to it, are one and the same thing ; and that— but I can make nothing of the rest. " When in black obtrusive clouds The chilly moon her pale cheek shrouds, I mark the twinkling starry train Exulting glitter in her wane, And proudly gleam their borrow'd llghl To gem the sombre dome of night.
Page 126 - A weeping Wreath, which round my Head Shall by the waning Crescent shine, And light us to our leafy bed. — Yet, ah ! nor leafy beds nor bow'rs Fring'd with soft MAY'S enamell'd flow'rs> Nor pearly leaves, nor Cynthia's beams, Nor smiling Pleasure's shadowy dreams — Sweet BIRD, not e'en THY melting Strains — Can calm the heart where TYRANT SORROW REIGNS. SECOND ODE TO THE NIGHTINGALE. BLEST be thy song, sweet NIGHTINGALE, Lorn minstrel of the lonely vale ! Where oft I've heard thy dulcet strain...
Page 182 - Pluck from their dark and rocky bed The yelling demons of the deep, Who, soaring o'er the comet's head, The bosom of the welkin sweep." " And when the jolly full moon laughs, In her clear zenith to behold The envious stars withdraw their gleams of gold, 'Tis to thy health she stooping...
Page 225 - I'll mark thy sunny dome, and view Thy Caves of Ice* thy fields of dew! Thy ever-blooming mead, whose flow'r Waves to the cold breath of the moonlight hour!
Page 225 - I'll listen to the minstrel's lay, Hymning the gradual close of day ; In caves of ice...
Page 122 - Where'er I find thee, gentle flower, Thou still art sweet and dear to me ; For I have known the cheerless hour, Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, Have felt the chilling wintry gale, And wept and shrunk like thee ! Charlotte Smith.
Page 13 - O THOU, to whom superior worth's allied, Thy country's honour — and the Muses' pride ; Whose pen gives polish to the varying line That blends instruction with the song divine ; Whose fancy, glancing o'er the hostile plain, Plants a fond trophy o'er the mighty slain...
Page 227 - Shall wake me in ecstatic measures! Far, far removed from mortal pleasures! In cadence rich, in cadence strong, Proving the wondrous witcheries of song! I hear her voice! thy sunny dome, Thy caves of ice, loud repeat, Vibrations, maddening sweet, Calling the visionary wanderer home.
Page 122 - Poor flower ! on thee the sunny beam, No touch of genial warmth bestows ; Except to thaw the icy stream, Whose little current purls along Thy fair and glossy charms among, And whelms thee as it flows.
Page 224 - Of distant breezes, cavern-pent ; Now, ere the twilight tints are flown, Purpling the landscape, far and wide, On the dark promontory's side...

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