A Literary Pilgrim in EnglandDodd, Mead, 1917 - 330 pages |
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Aldeburgh Alfoxden Aubrey beautiful birds born Borrow Boulge Bredfield Broad Chalk Castle Charlotte Brontë Clare Coleridge cottage Cowper Crabbe Dean Prior delighted Dove Cottage Draycot Cerne earth Edinburgh England father Felpham fields FitzGerald flowers Forest garden George Crabbe gipsies Grasmere green grey heart heath Helpston hills Isle Jefferies John Clare knew Lady Lake Lamb land lane Lavengro letters lived London look meadow miles moors morning mountains Mousehold Heath Nature neighbouring Nether Stowey never Norwich o'er Olney Oxford peasant perhaps pleasure poems poet poetry Rendham river road round Salisbury Plain says scene scenery Scholar Gipsy Scott seems Shelley shore sister song spent stone Stowey Street Sussex sweet tells Tennyson things thou thought took town trees verses visited Wales walked wife wild Wiltshire wind winter woods Wordsworth writing written wrote
Popular passages
Page 210 - Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Page 165 - Come, my Corinna, come ; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees ; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch ; each porch, each door, ere this, An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of white thorn neatly interwove ; As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Page 59 - I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep : a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why: until there rose From the near school-room, voices, that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes — The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
Page 18 - Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear: How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls; But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear.
Page 255 - I climb the hill : from end to end Of all the landscape underneath, I find no place that does not breathe Some gracious memory of my friend ; No gray old grange, or lonely fold, Or low morass and whispering reed, Or simple stile from mead to mead, Or sheepwalk up the windy wold ; Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw That hears the latest linnet trill, Nor quarry...
Page 163 - Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
Page 300 - Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; Of later fields of feud and fight, When, pouring from their Highland height, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While...
Page 208 - How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle ; and who justly, in return, Esteems that busy world an idler too ! Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Delightful industry...
Page 78 - So, some tempestuous morn in early June, When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, Before the roses and the longest day When garden-walks and all the grassy floor With blossoms red and white of fallen May And chestnut-flowers are strewn So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry, From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees, Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze: The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I!
Page 134 - Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner — and then to thinking! It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy.