Choice descriptive poetry, selected by a lady

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Página 8 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, * Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; so Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and...
Página 81 - O Caledonia ! stern and wild, meet nurse for a poetic child, • land of brown heath and shaggy wood, land of the mountain and the flood, land of my sires!
Página 6 - THE stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Página 41 - But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place ; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide ; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o...
Página 3 - Not there; not there, my child.' Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas. Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? Not there; not there, my child.
Página 42 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Página 7 - O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam ; And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told ; Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.
Página 45 - Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live ; Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die.
Página 2 - Lo, such the child, whose early feet The paths of peace have trod ; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God ! By cool Siloam's shady rill The lily must decay ; The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away.
Página 51 - They sin who tell us love can die. With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; Earthly these passions of the earth, They perish where they have their birth. But love is indestructible— Its holy flame for ever burneth ; From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

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