The remains of Henry Kirke White [ed.] with an acount of his life by R. Southey, Volume 2 |
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Page vii
... Past " X. " When high Romance , o'er every Wood and Stream " XI . " Hush'd is the Lyre " XII . " Once more , and yet once more " TIME ... THE CHRISTIAD • PROSE COMPOSITIONS . · 143 143 144 147 · 173 Remarks on the English Poets ...
... Past " X. " When high Romance , o'er every Wood and Stream " XI . " Hush'd is the Lyre " XII . " Once more , and yet once more " TIME ... THE CHRISTIAD • PROSE COMPOSITIONS . · 143 143 144 147 · 173 Remarks on the English Poets ...
Page 21
... past , But now she hears a quickening footstep sound , Lightly it comes , and nearer does it bound ; " Tis Bateman's self , -He springs into her arms , " Tis he that clasps , and chides her vain alarmıs . " Yet why this silence ? —I ...
... past , But now she hears a quickening footstep sound , Lightly it comes , and nearer does it bound ; " Tis Bateman's self , -He springs into her arms , " Tis he that clasps , and chides her vain alarmıs . " Yet why this silence ? —I ...
Page 116
... To soothe affliction in her darkest hour ; Time's trial o'er , shall clasp each other's hand , And wait the passport to a better land . Half past 11 o'clock at night . Thine , H. K. WHITE . CHRISTMAS - DAY , 1804 . YET once more , 116.
... To soothe affliction in her darkest hour ; Time's trial o'er , shall clasp each other's hand , And wait the passport to a better land . Half past 11 o'clock at night . Thine , H. K. WHITE . CHRISTMAS - DAY , 1804 . YET once more , 116.
Page 119
... past - the woods and storied haunts Of my not songless boyhood . - Yet once more , Not fearless , I will wake thy tremulous tones , My long neglected harp . - He must not sink ; The good , the brave — he must not , shall not sink ...
... past - the woods and storied haunts Of my not songless boyhood . - Yet once more , Not fearless , I will wake thy tremulous tones , My long neglected harp . - He must not sink ; The good , the brave — he must not , shall not sink ...
Page 126
... past — the day's gone by , And I am left alone to die . O pleasures past , what are ye now But thorns about my bleeding brow ? Spectres that hover round my brain , And aggravate and mock my pain . For pleasure I have given my soul ; Now ...
... past — the day's gone by , And I am left alone to die . O pleasures past , what are ye now But thorns about my bleeding brow ? Spectres that hover round my brain , And aggravate and mock my pain . For pleasure I have given my soul ; Now ...
Other editions - View all
The remains of Henry Kirke White [ed.] with an acount of his life ..., Volume 2 Henry Kirke White No preview available - 1823 |
The Remains of Henry Kirke White [Ed.] with an Acount of His Life by R. Southey Henry Kirke White No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
art thou beam Behold breast breeze calm CAPEL LOFFT charms cheek CHRISTIAD CLIFTON GROVE clouds croud dark death deep delight distant dost dreams drear eternal faint fancy fear feel gale genius gleam gloom Gondoline grave groves harp hath head hear heard heart Heaven HENRY KIRKE WHITE honours hope hour lazy Kate life's light lonely loud lyre maid melancholy mighty mind moon mortal mournful muse never night o'er pain pale pangs peace pensive pleasure Poems poet Pythagoras Quatorzain rest rise River Trent round scene serene shade sigh silent sing sleep slumbers smile soft solemn solitary solitude song SONNET soothe sorrow soul sound spirit star of Bethlehem steal stern storm stream sublime sweet sweetly tear tell thee thine thought throne twas vale vault of death wakeful wandering wave weep wild winds wing wrapt youth
Popular passages
Page 126 - When I resemble her to thee. How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied. That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
Page 194 - Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, and maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind.
Page 192 - THE Lord descended from above, And bowed the heavens most high ; And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. 2 On cherub and on cherubim, Full royally he rode ; And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad.
Page 123 - Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark.
Page 191 - He bowed the heavens also, and came down : and darkness was under his feet. And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly : yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.
Page 123 - Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem ; When suddenly a star arose, It was the Star of Bethlehem. V. It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease ; And through the storm and dangers' thrall, It led me to the port of peace.
Page 122 - WHEN, marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky, One star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. 2 Hark! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks— It is the Star of Bethlehem.
Page 203 - Thro' wasteful solitudes, and lurid heaths, Weary, forlorn ; than when the fated fair Upon the bosom bright of silver Thames Launches in all the lustre of brocade, Amid the splendours of the laughing Sun. The gay description palls upon the sense. And coldly strikes the mind with feeble bliss.
Page 187 - Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme With self-rewarding toil ; — thus far have sung Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem The lyre, which I in early days have strung ; And now my spirits faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me -in saddest hour, On the dark cypress ! and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or when the breeze comes by moan and are heard no more.
Page 52 - Thee, when young spring first questioned winter's sway. And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance.