Lyrical Ballads,: With Other Poems. In Two Volumes, Volumen1

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T.N. Longman and O. Rees, Paternoster-Row, 1800
 

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Página 185 - Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast — If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see ! how graciously She looketh down on him.
Página 57 - Jane ; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain ; And then she went away. So in the churchyard she was laid ; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side.
Página 208 - My dear, dear friend ; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh ! yet a little while, May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear sister ! and this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy...
Página 208 - The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk ; And let the misty mountain winds be free To blow against thee...
Página xxiv - Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; A different object do these eyes require ; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. I fruitless mourn to him that...
Página 163 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Página 207 - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive...
Página 198 - Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!— To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay!
Página 96 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Página 194 - Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit.

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