Penelope; Or, Morning Clouds Dispersed

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Dodd, 1873 - 272 pages

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Page 266 - In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the Robin's breast ; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest ; In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove ; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Page 40 - Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily...
Page 119 - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Page 99 - Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd and said amang them a'; — "Ye are na Mary Morison!
Page 89 - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Page 116 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Page 130 - Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily? Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear both it and thee.
Page 157 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
Page 156 - Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; 10 My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays.

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