Phantasmion

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W. Pickering, 1837 - 387 pages
 

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Page 139 - Nor feel the breeze that round thee lingering strays, To drink thy balmy breath, And sigh one long farewell. Soon shall it mourn above thy wat'ry bed, And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore, Deep murm-ring in reproach, Thy sad untimely fate. Ere those dear eyes had open'd on the light, In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold, O...
Page 187 - FALSE Love, too long thou hast delay'd, Too late I make my choice ; Yet win for me that precious maid, And bid my heart rejoice : Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire. My cheek with triumph glow, And other maids that glance desire, Which I on one bestow. Make her with smile divinely bland Beam sunshine o'er my face, And Time shall touch with gentlest hand What she hath...
Page 346 - While buoyantly he rushes o'er the lawn, Dream not of clouds to stain his manhood's dawn, Nor dim that sight with tears. No cloud he spies in brightly glowing hours, But feels as if the newly vested bowers For him could never fade : Too well we know that vernal pleasures fleet, But having him, so gladsome, fair, and sweet, Our loss is overpaid. « Amid the balmiest flowers that earth can give Some bitter drops distil, and all that live A mingled portion share ; But, while he learns these truths which...
Page 139 - O! wakened but to sleep, Whence it can wake no more! A thousand and a thousand silken leaves The tufted beech unfolds in early spring, All clad in tenderest green, All of the selfsame shape: A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet, Each year sends forth, yet every mother views Her last not least beloved Like its dear self alone. No musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped The face to-morrow's sun shall first reveal, No heart hath e'er conceived What love that face will bring. O sleep, my babe, nor heed...
Page 247 - I flow, E'en in swift course the river seems to rest, Blue sky, bright bloom and verdure imag'd on its breast. And, whilst with thee I roam through regions bright Beneath kind love's serene and gladsome sky, A thousand happy things that seek the light, Till now in darkest shadow forc'd to lie, Up through the illumin'd waters nimbly run, To show their forms and hues in the all revealing sun.
Page 155 - I TREMBLE when with look benign Thou tak'st my offer'd hand in thine, Lest passion-breathing words of mine The charm should break : And friendly smiles be forced to fly, Like soft reflections of the sky, Which, when rude gales are sweeping by. Desert the lake. Of late I saw thee in a dream ; The day-star pour'd his hottest beam, And thou, a cool refreshing stream, Did'st brightly run : The trees where thou wert pleased to flow, Threw out their flowers, a glorious show, While I, too distant doomed...
Page 246 - mid rocks and stones my toilsome way, A scanty brook in wandering well nigh spent ; But now with thee, rich stream, conjoin'd I stray. Through golden meads the river sweeps along, Murmuring its deep full joy in gentlest undersong. I crept through desert moor and gloomy glade, My waters ever vex'd, yet sad and slow, My waters ever steep'd in baleful shade : But, whilst with thee, rich stream, conjoin'd I...
Page 238 - O ever seen yet ne'er to be o'ertaken ! Those waving branches seem thy billowy hair. The cypress glades recall thy pensive air ; Slow rills, that wind like snakes amid the grass, Thine eye's mild sparkle fling me as they pass, Yet murmuring cry, This fruitless quest forbear! Nay e'en amid the cataract's loud storm, Where foamy torrents from the crags are leaping, Methinks I catch swift glimpses of thy form, Thy robe's light folds in airy tumult sweeping; Then silent are the falls : 'mid colours warm...
Page 93 - Zephyr, ere he settles On the loveliest flower that blows, Never stays to count thy petals, Dear, delicious, fragrant rose ! — Her features bright elude my sight, 1 know not how her tresses lie ; In fancy's maze my spirit plays, When she with all her charms is nigh.
Page 155 - ... sky, Which, when rude gales are sweeping by. Desert the lake. Of late I saw thee in a dream ; The day-star pour'd his hottest beam, And thou, a cool refreshing stream, Did'st brightly run : The trees where thou wert pleased to flow, Threw out their flowers, a glorious show, While I, too distant doomed to grow, Pined in the sun. By no life-giving moisture fed, A wasted tree, I bow'd my head, My sallow leaves and blossoms shed On earth's green breast : And silent...

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