Poems

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T. Cadell, Strand; and E. Moxon, Dover-Street., 1834 - 295 pages
 

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Page 15 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and, lo ! what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Page 45 - Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; If but a beam of sober Reason play, Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away ! But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, Pour round her path a stream of living light ; And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest ! HUMAN LIFE.
Page 104 - On parent knees, a naked new-born child Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled ; So live, that, sinking in thy last long sleep, Calm thou mayst smile, while all around thee weep.
Page 27 - SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. Ages and climes remote to Thee impart What charms in Genius and refines in Art; Thee, in whose hands the...
Page 105 - Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God : I am the LORD.
Page 78 - How oft her eyes read his ; her gentle mind To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined ; Still subject — ever on the watch jto borrow Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow.
Page 106 - ... an inward prompting, which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study, (which I take to be my portion in this life,) joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written, to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die.
Page 101 - I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Page 197 - ... Mine be a cot beside the hill; A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow oft beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy at her wheel shall sing In russet gown and apron blue.
Page 38 - ... the pebbled floor, And on the front these simple lines it bore. Hence away, nor dare intrude ! In this secret, shadowy cell Musing MEMORY loves to dwell, With her sister Solitude. Far from the busy world she flies, To taste that peace the world denies. Entranced she sits ; from youth to age, Reviewing Life's eventful page ; And noting, ere they fade away, The little lines of yesterday.

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