Christmas with the Poets: A Collection of Songs, Carols, and Descriptive Verses Relating to the Festival of Christmas, from the Anglo-Norman Period to the Present Time

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D. Bogue, 1851 - 191 Seiten
 

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Seite 102 - The oracles are dumb: No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving; Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving; No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Seite 101 - Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow : And with your ninefold harmony, Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Seite 68 - Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot...
Seite 101 - For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day...
Seite 102 - With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
Seite 52 - gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
Seite 139 - Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age ; thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way ; I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest, And dreaded as thou art.
Seite 55 - When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
Seite 58 - An old song made by an aged old pate Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ; Like an old courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier.
Seite 98 - But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began...

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