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Alcuin ancient Anglo-Saxon Applause bards beautiful Bede beggars Beowulf Boadicea Board of Guardians born Britons Caedmon called century charms Chaucer Christ Church Costley David Holt death delight died doctor England English entitled eyes fair father flowers friends gave genius give glory hear heart heaven Herrick Ireland Irish Irish poetry island John Killarney King labour lady lake Lakes of Killarney Lancashire land language large number lines literature lived London Lord lyrical Manchester mind mountains nature Nennius never o'er Pendleton pleasure poems poetical poetry poets Poor Laws praise Queen remarkable Romans Saint Salford Salford Board Saxons scenery series of lectures sing song speak Spenser spirit sweet tell thee Thomas Moore thou thought town tramp trees truth verse wild Wilson words workhouse writings written wrote
Page 67 - To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
Page 175 - To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, The God Whom we adore, Be glory, as it was, is now, And shall be evermore.
Page 104 - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Page 131 - Do you question the young children in the sorrow-, Why their tears are falling so ? The old man may weep for his to-morrow, Which is lost in Long Ago. The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, — The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost.
Page 97 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 191 - WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with' an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods, Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage and full of grief.
Page 319 - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, » And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven...
Page 191 - Other Romans shall arise Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.
Page 120 - I gazed— and gazed— but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.