On Poetic Interpretation of Nature, Volumen28;Volumen381

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D. Douglas, 1877 - 286 páginas

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Página 105 - O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i" the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Página 188 - And wait the' approaching sign to strike, at once, Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales, And forests seem, impatient, to demand The promised sweetness. Man superior walks Amid the glad creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The clouds consign their treasures to the fields ; And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, By such as wander...
Página 168 - The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Página 37 - What soul was his, when, from the naked top Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun Rise up, and bathe the world in light...
Página 166 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond "Which keeps me pale...
Página 196 - O'erhang his wavy bed, Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn...
Página 203 - tis true; but gouty limb, Though on a sofa, may I never feel: For I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swarth, close cropped by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers...
Página 194 - IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave ! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, To deck its poet's sylvan grave ! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp ' shall now be laid ; That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds May love through life the soothing shade. Then maids and youths shall linger here ; And, while its sounds at distance swell, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
Página 205 - How oft upon yon eminence our pace Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While Admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Página 196 - If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales...

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