A Poetry-book of Elder Poets: Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics, Selected and Arranged, with Notes, from the Works of the Elder English Poets, Dating from the Beginning of the Fourteenth Century to the Middle of the Eighteenth CenturyB. Tauchnitz, 1878 - 298 pages |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 22
Page 5
... fall . Here is no home , here is but wilderness . Forth , pilgrim , forth - on , best out of thy stall ; Look up on high , and thank the God of all ! Weivith thy lust , and let thy ghost thee lead , And Truth thee shalt deliver - ' tis ...
... fall . Here is no home , here is but wilderness . Forth , pilgrim , forth - on , best out of thy stall ; Look up on high , and thank the God of all ! Weivith thy lust , and let thy ghost thee lead , And Truth thee shalt deliver - ' tis ...
Page 10
... falls Melodious birds sing madrigals . There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies , A cap of flowers , and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle . A gown made of the finest wool , Which from our pretty ...
... falls Melodious birds sing madrigals . There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies , A cap of flowers , and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle . A gown made of the finest wool , Which from our pretty ...
Page 11
... . The flowers do fade , and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue , a heart of gall , Is fancy's spring , but sorrow's fall . I I I 2 THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY . Thy gowns , thy Christopher Marlowe.
... . The flowers do fade , and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue , a heart of gall , Is fancy's spring , but sorrow's fall . I I I 2 THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY . Thy gowns , thy Christopher Marlowe.
Page 14
... fall in dead of night ; For , in your eyes they sit , and there Fixèd become , as in their sphere . Ask me no more , if east or west , The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies , And in your fragrant bosom dies ...
... fall in dead of night ; For , in your eyes they sit , and there Fixèd become , as in their sphere . Ask me no more , if east or west , The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies , And in your fragrant bosom dies ...
Page 45
... rise , or fear to fall ; Lord of himself , though not of lands , And having nothing , yet hath All . Sir Henry Wotton . 46 THE MODERATE WISHER . THE MODERATE WISHER . THIS Sir Henry Wotton Abraham Cowley George Herbert.
... rise , or fear to fall ; Lord of himself , though not of lands , And having nothing , yet hath All . Sir Henry Wotton . 46 THE MODERATE WISHER . THE MODERATE WISHER . THIS Sir Henry Wotton Abraham Cowley George Herbert.
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Other editions - View all
A Poetry-Book of Elder Poets, Consisting of Songs & Sonnets, Odes & Lyrics ... Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
ALEXANDER SELKIRK AULD ROBIN GRAY BATTLE OF AGINCOURT Beaumont beauty birds Blake breath bright CHRIST'S NATIVITY crown dear death doth Dunfermline town earth Edward Elder Poets ELEGY ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA Eurydice eyes fair fairy fear Fletcher flower golden good-morrow grave green grief grove hand hast hath hear heart heaven Helen honour INVERMAY King Kirconnell kiss ladies light Line live Lord LOVE'S LOVER Lycidas lyre Milton moon MORNING OF CHRIST'S Mother Muse Nanny ne'er never night nightingale Noroway notes numbers nymph o'er Osiris pain PATRICK SPENCE Phillida flouts Philomela pleasure poem praise Procne rose sad cypress Sally shade Shakespeare shepherds shine sing SIR PATRICK SPENCE sleep smiling SONG sorrow soul sound spring stream swain sweet tears tell Tereus Thammuz thee things tree unto Verse voice wanton weep wilt thou winds wings Yarrow youth
Popular passages
Page 39 - But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Page 85 - Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But O, sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower ? Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek.
Page 19 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Page 73 - Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted...
Page 139 - Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.
Page 117 - When Love with unconfine'd wings Hovers within my Gates ; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the Grates : When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye ; The Birds, that wanton in the Air, Know no such Liberty.
Page 272 - tis said) Before was never made But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Page 37 - When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Page 274 - The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
Page 211 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.