The panorama of youth [by M.R. Sterndale].

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J. Carpenter, 1807
 

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第 208 頁 - Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.
第 89 頁 - His bankless waters o'er the sunny mead; As of his broad and sheety shallows proud, Shine the clear mirror of the passing cloud: Then to the left along the valley glide, With smooth meander, and with narrower tide, Through banks, where thick the spreading alders grow, And deep calm waves reflect their pendent bough. Refreshing sweets the breathing hay-cocks yield, That richly tuft the long and narrow field, As gently to the right it curves away Round the green...
第 224 頁 - Little native of the skies, Lovely penitent, arise, Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow, Virtue is thy sister now. More delightful are my woes, Than the rapture pleasure knows ; Richer far the weeds I bring, Than the robes that grace a king. On my wars, of shortest date, Crowns of endless trinmph wait; On my cares, a period bless'd; On my toils eternal rest.
第 89 頁 - O'er its grey breast no undulating trees With lavish foliage court the lively breeze; But from the Moor the rude stone walls disjoin, With angle sharp, and long unvaried line, The cheerless field, — where slowly wandering feed The lonely cow, and melancholy steed, Expos'd abide the summer's ardent breath, And wintry storm that yells along the heath. At length benigner mountains meet the eyes ; Their shrubby heights in rounder grace arise ; And, from the first...
第 224 頁 - More delightful are my woes, Than the rapture pleasure knows; Richer far the weeds I bring, Than the robes that grace a king. " On my wars of shortest date, Crowns of endless triumph wait ; On my cares, a period bless'd ; On my toils, eternal rest. " Come, with Virtue at thy side, Come, be ev'ry bar defy'd, Till we gain our native shore: Sister, come, and turn no more !
第 90 頁 - Then thro' the mazes of the rambling dale With silent lapse they flow, or rush with tuneful waiL The self-taught EDWIN, in his lowly state, Feels this sweet glen an emblem of his fate; For as it glows with beauty rich and rare, Near heathy hills, unsightly, bleak, and bare, So, 'midst unletter'd hinds as...
第 89 頁 - Tideswell's naked Moor; Stretch'd on vast hills, that far and near prevail, Bleak, stony, bare, monotonous, and pale, Wide o'er the waste, in noon-tide's sultry rays, The frequent lime-kiln darts her umber'd blaze; Her suffocating smoke incessant breathes, And shrouds the sun in black conv jiving wreaths ; And here, with pallid ashes heap'd around, Oft sinks the mine, and blots the dreary ground.
第 89 頁 - And shrouds the sun in black conv jiving wreaths ; And here, with pallid ashes heap'd around, Oft sinks the mine, and blots the dreary ground. In vain warm Spring demands her robe of green, No sheltering hedge-rows vivify the scene ; O'er its grey breast no undulating trees With lavish foliage court the lively breeze; But from the Moor the rude stone walls disjoin, With angle sharp, and long unvaried line, The cheerless field, — where slowly wandering feed The lonely cow, and melancholy steed,...
第 90 頁 - While on th' opposing shore dwarf foliage hides, Sombrous, and soft, the mountain's lofty sides, And throws its latest fringe upon the flood, That laves the concave of the pensile wood ; Till down the rocks, rude, broken, mossy, steep, In parted tides the foaming waters leap ; Then thro' the mazes of the rambling dale With silent lapse they flow, or rush with tuneful wail. The self-taught EDWIN, in his lowly state, Feels this sweet glen an emblem of his fate ; For as it glows with beauty rich and...
第 178 頁 - Oh, lady ! listen to my tale, And let my simple words prevail : — My mother's old — she's old and poor, And scarce can totter to the door; And me she loves, her only joy — She has no other girl or boy : Ah ! whilst she lives, with her I'll stay ; But think, of you when far away, She says the grave will rest the weary ; And then I'll be your Moorland Mary.

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