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admiration appeared arms beautiful began brother called Cardo Clare castle Cowper cried dark daughter dear death delight door doubloons dress eyes face fair Fanny father fear feel fire Frederick Frederick Hume gentleman girl Gorbals Gothic architecture grave hand happy hast head hear heard heart heaven Hodnet honour horse trumpet hour Hume Jack White knew lady laugh light live look lord Thurlow Madeline marriage Martha Mary Melrose Abbey mind miserable Miss morning mother never night o'er once passed Pescia Pisa poor prince returned Romelli rose round scene Scotland seemed seen side sleep smile soon soul sound spirit stood stranger street sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought took town turned Ursen Ursenstein village voice Waldeck walked wife wild William Cowper Wincanton window wish wonder words wretched young youth
Seite 94 - Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...
Seite 94 - To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer...
Seite 66 - And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.
Seite 94 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Seite 66 - She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
Seite 200 - Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more; My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary!
Seite 46 - Had placed that Bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell, The mariners heard the warning Bell; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
Seite 212 - And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities, I, day by day, Would wear away ; Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the holly tree.
Seite 200 - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For, could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Seite 46 - They cannot see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is, they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon.