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bell beneath bless born bound breath bring brow child choristers church cloud cold comes cried daughter dead dear death deep died door Dora dream earth eyes face fair fancies father's fear feet fell fire gazed give gone grew half hands happy hard head hear heard heart Heaven hope horse keep knew land leaves light lips living look Lord lullaby Mare Mary mind morn mountains Nature never night o'er old familiar faces once priests rose round says seemed seen side sing Sir Walter sitting sleep smile song soon soul spirit spring stand stone stood stream STREET strong sweet talk tell thee things thou thought till took turn Venice voice waves wide wife wild wind woman
Page 66 - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Page 186 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Page 50 - Far off the farmer came into the field And spied her not; for none of all his men Dare tell him Dora waited with the child; And Dora would have risen and gone to him, But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.
Page 10 - THE moving accident is not my trade ; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts : 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
Page 126 - THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful schooldays: All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Page 77 - ... weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green. — No more of me you knew, My love ! No more of me you knew. ' This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again.
Page 76 - A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine ! A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, — No more of me you knew, My love I No more of me you knew.
Page 42 - DORA. WITH farmer Allan at the farm abode William and Dora. William was his son, And she his niece. He often look'd at them. And often thought,
Page 69 - Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep?