Account of the life of H. K. White. Poems inserted in the life. Poems inserted in the letters. Tributary verses. Poems written before the publication of Clifton Grove

Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, 1808
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Página 269 - O put thy trust in God : for I will yet thank him, which is the help of my countenance, and my God.
Página 19 - 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 38 - HERE would I wish to sleep. — This is the spot Which I have long mark'd out to lay my bones in; Tired out and wearied with the riotous world, Beneath this yew I would be sepulchred. It is a lovely spot ! The sultry sun, From his meridian height, endeavours vainly To pierce the shadowy foliage, while the zephyr Comes wafting gently o'er the rippling Trent, And plays about my wan cheek. 'Tis a nook Most pleasant.
Página 35 - Though Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation, in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell, That tells her hopes are dead ; And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say, My all was not laid here.
Página 51 - London to recruit himself,—the worst place to which he could have gone: the variety of stimulating objects there hurried and agitated him, and when he returned to College, he was so completely ill, that no power of medicine, could save him. His mind was worn out, and it was the opinion of his medical attendants, that if he had recovered, his intellect would have been affected.
Página 6 - Will never greet my longing eyes ; Still will they cheat in vision fine, Yet never but in fancy shine. Oh, that I were the little wren That shrilly chirps from yonder glen ! Oh, far away I then would rove To some secluded bushy grove ; There hop and sing with careless glee, Hop and sing at liberty ; And, till death should stop my lays, Far from men would spend my days.
Página 18 - Sky were not orthodox rhymes, according to his wise canons of criticism, sat down to blast the hopes of a boy, who had confessed to him all his hopes and all his difficulties, and thrown himself upon his mercy. With such a letter before him, (by mere accident I saw that which had been sent to the Critical Review, ) even though the poems had been bad...
Página 58 - It was in him a living and quickening principle of goodness, which sanctified all his hopes and all his affections; which made him keep watch over his own heart, and enabled him to correct the few symptoms, which it ever displayed, of human imperfection.
Página 75 - Tired of earth And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft Through fields of air, pursues the flying storm, Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ; Or, yoked with whirlwinds, and the northern blast, Sweeps the long tract of day.
Página 20 - And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, And not a care shall dare intrude, To break the marble solitude, So peaceful and so deep. And hark ! the wind-god, as he flies, Moans hollow in the forest trees, And sailing on the gusty breeze, Mysterious music dies. Sweet flower ! that requiem wild is mine, It warns me to the lonely shrine, The cold turf-altar of the dead ; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, Where as I lie, by all forgot, A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed.

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