The British Poets, 第 3 卷

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Little, Brown & Company, 1866
 

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第134页 - Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom — Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm.
第114页 - That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destin'd Urn, And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
第113页 - YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas?
第128页 - Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the chequer'd shade...
第115页 - Tempered to the oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long, And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return...
第176页 - For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.
第4页 - To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own ; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! O first created beam, and thou great Word, Let there be light, and light was over all; Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
第130页 - And ever against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running; Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony: That Orpheus...
第157页 - Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling : She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.
第77页 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.

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