The poetical works of Henry Kirke White. With a biogr. sketch of the author. Standard libr. ed

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1838 - 55 páginas

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Página 51 - 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 15 - Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid...
Página 19 - O'er many a distant foreign land; Each place, each province I have tried, And sung and danced my saraband.
Página 25 - The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day ; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away.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 51 - So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, 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 impell'd the steel ; While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Página 34 - But, soon inured to alphabetic toils, Alert I met the dame with jocund smiles — First at the form, my task for ever true, A little...
Página 14 - ... it is hard To feel the hand of Death arrest one's steps, Throw a chill blight o'er all one's budding hopes, And hurl one's soul untimely to the shades, Lost in the gaping gulf of blank oblivion. Fifty years hence, and who will hear of Henry ? Oh ! none ; — another busy brood of beings Will shoot up in the interim, and none Will hold him in remembrance.
Página 39 - And now my spirit's faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour, On the dark cypress ! and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan and are heard no more.
Página 34 - In yonder cot, along whose mouldering walls In many a fold the mantling woodbine falls, The village matron kept her little school, Gentle of heart, yet knowing well to rule; Staid was the dame, and modest was her mien...
Página 50 - And Thou wilt turn our wandering feet, And Thou wilt bless our way ; Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet The dawn of lasting day. 877 Psalm 63. CM "T...

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