The Poetical Works of Thomas PringleEdward Moxon, 1839 - 219 páginas |
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Términos y frases comunes
afar amidst antelopes assagai Author's Narrative beautiful Bechuana bees bird blithe bosom bowers breast bright Bushmen Caffer Cafferland called Cape Cape Colony Cape Town Cherr-a-cherr chief Christian clime colony coloured dark dear Desert doth dream Dutch EDWARD MOXON enchanted fair Fairbairn fancy father fear feelings flocks flowers forest gaze gentle gleaming glen Glen-Lynden grace hand Hartebeest hath haunted heard heart Heaven hills hope Hottentot hyænas Islambi Kat River kraal land larvæ lassie letter literary lone look Lord Charles Lord Charles Somerset mind missionary mountain native ne'er o'er Oribi poem poetical Pringle's race rocks round scene seemed sigh slave smile song soul sound South Africa Spaewife species spirit springboks stream sweet Teviotdale thee Thomas Pringle thou thought tic-a-tac tree tribe Uhlanga vale valley wander wild wilderness Winterberg woods young
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Página 10 - A region of drought, where no river glides, Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ; Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount, Appears, to refresh the aching eye ; But the barren earth and the burning sky, And the blank horizon, round and round, Spread, — void of living sight or sound.
Página 154 - Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend, Seeking a higher object. Love was given, Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; For this the passion to excess was driven, That self might be annulled : her bondage prove The fetters of a dream opposed to love.
Página 181 - Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells; In truth the prison unto which we doom Ourselves no prison is : and hence for me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground ; Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
Página 71 - For dread to prouder feelings doth give place Of deep abhorrence ! Scorning the disgrace Of slavish knees that at thy footstool bow, I also kneel — but with far other vow Do hail thee and thy herd of hirelings base : — I swear, while life-blood warms my throbbing veins, Still to oppose and thwart, with heart and hand, Thy brutalising sway — till Afric's chains Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land, — Trampling Oppression and his iron rod : Such is the -vow I take — so HELP ME GOD!
Página 6 - And tears and toil have been my lot Since I the White Man's thrall became, And sorer griefs I wish forgot Harsh blows, and scorn, and shame! Oh, Englishman! thou ne'er canst know The injured bondman's bitter woe, When round his breast, like scorpions, cling Black thoughts that madden while they sting! "Yet this hard fate I might have borne, And taught in time my soul to bend, Had my sad yearning heart forlorn But found a single friend: My race extinct or far removed, The Boor's rough brood I could...
Página 64 - His fathers' once, where now the White Man builds His home, and issues forth his proud commands. His dark eye flashes not ; his listless hands Lean on the shepherd's staff ; no more he wields The Libyan bow — but to th' oppressor yields Submissively his freedom and his lands.
Página 113 - Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, And streams renowned in song ; Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads Our hearts have loved so long. " Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes, Where thyme and harebells grow ! Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes, O'erhung with...
Página 203 - My son, be this thy simple plan : Serve God, and love thy brother man ; Forget not, in temptation's hour, That sin lends sorrow double power; Count life a stage upon thy way, And follow conscience, come what may; Alike with earth and heaven sincere, With hand and brow and bosom clear, " Fear God, and know no other fear.
Página 158 - Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower A new Earth and new Heaven...
Página 120 - Yes — though the sceptic's tongue deride Those martyrs who for conscience died, — Though modish history blight their fame, And sneering courtiers hoot the name Of men who dared alone be free Amidst a nation's slavery, — Yet long for them the poet's lyre Shall wake its notes of heavenly fire ; Their names shall nerve the patriot's hand, Upraised to save a sinking land ; And piety shall learn to burn With holier transports o'er their urn...