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appear beauty become believe beneath bird blessing breathed bright character Christian clouds comes creatures dark dead death delight divine dream eagle earth eyes face fall fear feel feet felt flowers forest genius give glen green hand happy head hear heard heart heaven Highlands hills hope hour human imagination inspired lake leaves less light lines live Loch look mind morning mountains nature never night once ourselves passed perhaps poet poetry religion rest rocks round season seems seen shadow side sight single sitting sleep smile sometimes soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars stream strong summer sweet tears things thou thought thousand touch travelling trees true truth turn voice walk whole wings woods young
Página 306 - The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigour born, The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light That fly th
Página 356 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Página 80 - Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, Yet will I fear none ill ; For thou art with me ; and thy rod And staff me comfort still.
Página 54 - In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care.
Página 293 - Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Página 43 - The essence of poetry is invention ; such invention as, by producing something unexpected, surprises and delights. The topics of devotion are few, and being few are universally known ; but few as they are, they can be made no more ; they can receive no grace from novelty of sentiment, and very little from novelty of expression.
Página 277 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry.
Página 101 - Full fain it would delay me! My dear babe, Who, capable of no articulate sound, Mars all things with his imitative lisp, How he would place his hand beside his ear, His little hand, the small forefinger up, And bid us listen!
Página 48 - Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties and refluxes of man's thoughts from within ; all these things with a solid and treatable smoothness to paint out and describe.