Poems, Volume 1

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Wiley and Putnam, 1846 - 229 pages
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Page 8 - WE watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied—- We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
Page 143 - The meeting sweet that made me thrill, The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, No ' satis ' to the 'jams !' — When that I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind ! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind ! FAIR INES.
Page 13 - BALLAD IT was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast ; It was the time of roses, We pluck'd them as we pass'd.
Page 152 - Till shade and silence waken up as one, And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth. Where are the merry birds? — Away, away, On panting wings through the inclement skies, Lest owls should prey Undazzled at noon-day, And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.
Page 227 - Mary Schweidler, the Amber Witch, the most interesting trial for Witchcraft ever known, printed from an imperfect manuscript by her father, Abraham Schweidler, the pastor of Coserow, in the island of Usedom.
Page 152 - The swallows all have winged across the main ; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. Alone, alone, Upon a mossy stone, She sits and reckons up the dead and gone With the last leaves for a love-rosary, Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily, Like...
Page 143 - twixt verb and noun ! The angel form that always walk'd In all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd Exactly like Miss Brown ! The " omne bene" — Christmas come ! The prize of merit won for home — Merit had prizes then ! But now I write for days and days, For fame — a deal of empty praise, Without the silver pen ! Then home, sweet home ; the crowded coach The joyous shout — the loud approach ; The winding horns, like rams' ; The meeting sweet, that made me thrill ; The sweetmeats, almost sweeter...
Page 195 - And sadly given to the mortal sin Of liking Mawworms less than merry maggots ! The humble records of my life to search, I have not herded with mere pagan beasts ; But sometimes I have "sat at good men's feasts," And I have been "where bells have knoll'd to church.
Page 203 - To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells Ring Sabbath knells ; The jubilate of the soaring lark Is chant of clerk ; For choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; The sod's a cushion for his pious want ; And, consecrated by the heav'n within it, The sky-blue pool, a font.
Page 164 - THE WATER LADY. ALAS, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see !I saw a maiden on a stream, And fair was she ! I staid...

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