Poems

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N. Biggs, 1803 - 202 Seiten
 

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Seite 135 - Now winding bright and full, with naked banks; And seats, and lawns, the Abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire...
Seite 131 - And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All...
Seite 130 - And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and...
Seite 101 - SCHILLER ! that hour I would have wished to die, If through the shuddering midnight I had sent From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent That fearful voice, a famished Father's cry — Lest in some after moment aught more mean Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout Black Horror...
Seite 130 - O! the one life within us and abroad, Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled; Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air Is Music slumbering on her instrument.
Seite 130 - Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound...
Seite 166 - I hear the famished brood of prey Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind ! Away, my soul, away ! I unpartaking of the evil thing, With daily prayer and daily toil Soliciting for food my scanty soil, Have wailed my country with a loud Lament.
Seite 27 - MAID of my love, sweet Genevieve! In beauty's light you glide along : Your eye is like the star of eve, And sweet your voice as seraph's song.
Seite xi - own exceeding great reward :' it has soothed my afflictions ; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.
Seite 57 - EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care ; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed And bade it blossom there.

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