Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets, Volume 2

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Page 9 - Thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant; what in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support; That to the height of this great argument I may assert Eternal Providence, And justify the ways
Page 340 - And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher : Come forth into the light of things, Let nature be your teacher. " She has a world of ready wealth Our minds and hearts to bless— Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. " One impulse from a vernal wood May
Page 340 - this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. " ' Think you, mid all this mighty sum Of things forever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking? " ' Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old gray stone, And dream my time away.'
Page 9 - Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse ! that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth Rose out of chaos ; or, if Sion-hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed Fast by the Oracle of God,
Page 147 - Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now ; Even while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath, Soul to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death No more will fear to die.
Page 340 - can not choose but see ; We can not bid the ear be still ; Our bodies feel, where'er they be, Against or with our will. " ' Nor less I deem that there are powers Which of themselves our minds impress ; That we can feel, this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. " ' Think you, mid all this mighty sum Of things
Page 337 - I thought of Chatterton, the marvelous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough along the mountain side. By our own spirits are we deified : We poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.
Page 340 - You look round on your mother earth, As if she for no purpose bore you ; As if you were her first-born birth, And none had lived before you !' " One morning thus by Esthwaite Lake, When life was sweet, I knew not why, To me my good friend Mathew spake, And thus I made reply :— "

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