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affection appear believe breast brother cold dark DEAR death deep delight duty expected fear feel fire future genius give grace grave hand happy head hear heard heart Heaven Henry hope hour human idea John's kind learned leave less letter light live lonely look means melancholy mind morning mother muse nature never NEVILLE night Nottingham o'er object once pain pass peace perhaps pleasure poems poet poor prayer present reason received regard rest rise round scene seems silent sleep smile song soon soul sound spirit sure sweet tear tell thee things thou thought tion true truth turn virtues wave WHITE wild winds wish write written young youth
Página 122 - Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem.
Página 122 - It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star, the Star of Bethlehem.
Página 192 - And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which...
Página 78 - twill well contain The ideal flights of Madam Brain. No dungeon's walls, no cell confined, Can cramp the energies of mind ! I've friends, and 'twill contain them all ; And should it e'er become so cold That these it will no longer hold, No more may Heaven her blessings give, I shall not then be fit to live. TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.
Página 26 - O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away. Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid.
Página 13 - Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, And I will bind thee round my brow ; And as I twine the mournful wreath, I'll weave a melancholy song: And sweet the strain shall be and long, The melody of death.
Página 25 - Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven, For thou severe wert sent from heaven To wean me from the world ; To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die.
Página 31 - ... to Cambridge, he was immediately as much distinguished for his classical knowledge as his genius : but the seeds of death were in him, and the place to which he had so long looked on with hope, served unhappily as a hothouse to ripen them...