The Literary souvenir; or, Cabinet of poetry and romance, ed. by A.A. Watts. [on large paper].

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Alaric Alexander Watts
1829
 

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Page 115 - No marvel that the lady wept — it was the land of France — The chosen home of chivalry — the garden of romance ! The past was bright, like those dear hills so far behind her bark ; The future, like the gathering night, was ominous and dark! One gaze again — one long, last gaze — "Adieu, fair France, to thee !" The breeze comes forth — she is alone on the unconscious sea.
Page 33 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water ; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 272 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; But yet...
Page 116 - They half beguiled her of her cares, they soothed her into smiles, They won her thoughts from bigot zeal, and fierce domestic broils :— But hark ! the tramp of armed men ! the Douglas...
Page 111 - And all around the noonday sun a drowsy radiance cast. No sound of busy life was heard, save, from the cloister dim, The tinkling of the silver bell, or the sisters...
Page 199 - THOSE few pale autumn flowers, How beautiful they are ! Than all that went before, Than all the summer store, How lovelier far ! And why ? — They are the last ! The last ! the last ! the last ! Oh ! by that little word, How many thoughts are stirred...
Page 114 - The homage of a thousand hearts — the fond deep love of one — The hopes that dance around a life whose charms are but begun, — They lighten up her chestnut eye, they mantle o'er her cheek, They sparkle on her open brow, and high-souled joy bespeak. i Ah ! who shall blame if scarce that day, through all its brilliant hours, She thought of that quiet convent's calm — its sunshine and its flowers.
Page 221 - Black with the miner's blast, upon her height Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball Rebounding idly on her strength did light...
Page 114 - Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise. No marvel that the lady wept, — there was no land on earth She loved like that dear land, although she owed it not her birth ; It was her mother's land, the land of childhood and of friends, — It was the...
Page 355 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

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