The British Female Poets

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Lindsay & Blakiston, 1848 - 490 pages
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The poetry of over fifty British women is presented here, along with short biographies of each poet.
 

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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 child-like form.
Page 237 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set - but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Page 344 - Then take me on your knee, mother ; And listen, mother of mine. A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. " And their harp-strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small ; But oh ! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all.
Page 128 - Triumphant from the tomb ! , 3 This day be grateful homage paid, And loud hosannas sung ; Let gladness dwell in every heart, And praise on every tongue. 4 Ten thousand differing lips shall join To hail this welcome morn, Which scatters blessings from its wings To nations yet unborn.
Page 482 - And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences ; The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number, And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.
Page 483 - Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested, Upon the victim's hidden face no love was manifested ! What frantic hands outstretched have e'er the atoning drops averted, What tears have washed them from the soul, that one should be deserted...
Page 221 - Yet more ! the billows and the depths have more ! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar, The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave...
Page 234 - We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o'er the seas — Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn — And sadder things than these...
Page 139 - In every joy that crowns my days, In every pain I bear, My heart shall find delight in praise, Or seek relief in prayer.
Page 260 - Pleasant the wind's low sigh, And the gleaming of the west, And the turf whereon we lie ; When the burden and the heat Of labour's task are o'er, And kindly voices greet The tired one at his door. Come to the sunset tree ! The day is past and gone ; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.

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