Pericula urbis, a satire, and other exercises in Latin, Greek, and English verse

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Longmans, Green, and Company, 1871 - 134 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 20 - TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
الصفحة 110 - Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car.
الصفحة 30 - To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No...
الصفحة 112 - While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train And rudely rends...
الصفحة 62 - My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music : it is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word ; which madness Would gambol from.
الصفحة 44 - STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powder'd, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th...
الصفحة 108 - Ode to Evening If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales...
الصفحة 24 - She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
الصفحة 40 - O Swallow, Swallow ! if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou, that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green...
الصفحة 46 - Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, Arysing forth to run her mighty race, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. So well it her beseems, that ye would weene Some angell she had beene.

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