The British Female Poets

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Lindsay & Blakiston, 1865 - 490 pages
The poetry of over fifty British women is presented here, along with short biographies of each poet.
 

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Page 230 - And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They...
Page 402 - I never more shall see my own, my native land: Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine.
Page 247 - THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand ! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry homes of England ! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or .childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page...
Page 229 - THE boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.
Page 253 - midst Italian flowers — The last of that bright band. And parted thus they rest who played Beneath the same green tree ; Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee...
Page 221 - Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main...
Page 229 - Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" —And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 77 - Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
Page 403 - Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun. "And 'mid the dead and dying...
Page 267 - God! The royal eagle darteth On his quarry from the heights, But we, for thy communion, Have sought the mountain sod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers

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