Beauties of the Country: Or, Descriptions of Rural Customs, Objects, Scenery, and the SeasonsJ. Van Voorst, 1837 - 425 pages |
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Page 10
... face when it appeared , and found the blackness of death upon the place where it had trodden - a darkness left be- hind when it had vanished . Let it not be imagined that changes like these are in nowise woven with our natures . The ...
... face when it appeared , and found the blackness of death upon the place where it had trodden - a darkness left be- hind when it had vanished . Let it not be imagined that changes like these are in nowise woven with our natures . The ...
Page 25
... ice ? and the hoary frost of heaven , who hath gendered it ? The waters are hid as with a stone , and the face of the deep is frozen . " * * Job , chap . xxxviii . The frost often lingers long with us at this period JANUARY . 25.
... ice ? and the hoary frost of heaven , who hath gendered it ? The waters are hid as with a stone , and the face of the deep is frozen . " * * Job , chap . xxxviii . The frost often lingers long with us at this period JANUARY . 25.
Page 36
... face , and a dense darkness closing upon the brief day ; here and there a poor bird giving a short " twit " among ... faces on which the light is thrown , the gilded pictures , the classic statues - all that wealth and taste have ...
... face , and a dense darkness closing upon the brief day ; here and there a poor bird giving a short " twit " among ... faces on which the light is thrown , the gilded pictures , the classic statues - all that wealth and taste have ...
Page 37
... face buried in his hands , the piercing wind sweeping the dim rush- light to and fro , the silent snow stealing through the shattered panes , and gathering in drifts upon the cold hearthstone . A group of little children huddled ...
... face buried in his hands , the piercing wind sweeping the dim rush- light to and fro , the silent snow stealing through the shattered panes , and gathering in drifts upon the cold hearthstone . A group of little children huddled ...
Page 39
... assemble on this evening for many a year ; nor the old oaken cupboard from which thou wert wont , with a smile on thy face , to draw forth the huge Twelfth - cake . What a shouting and clapping of hands was there when JANUARY . 39.
... assemble on this evening for many a year ; nor the old oaken cupboard from which thou wert wont , with a smile on thy face , to draw forth the huge Twelfth - cake . What a shouting and clapping of hands was there when JANUARY . 39.
Expressions et termes fréquents
appearance autumn banks beautiful bees beneath birds bloom blossoms blue boughs branches breath bright buds chaffinch Christmas clouds colours cowslip cuckoo daisies dark deep delight dogs earth eyes feel feet fieldfares fields flowers foliage forest fragrance garden gaze gipsies grass green hand happy hath head heard heart heath heaven hedge heigh-ho hills hive Idlesse insects Izaak Walton Julius Cæsar labour leaf leaves Leigh Hunt light Lincolnshire look Maid Marian May-pole meadows merry month morning murmur Nabal Nature nest never night o'er pleasant pleasure poetry purple quadrupeds queen rich ringdove Robin Hood rose round says scene scenery season seems seen shade sheep-shearing sight silent singing sleep song sound spring stone-curlew stream summer sweet thee thou throws titmouse trees valleys voice walk wander waving weather wild wind wings winter Woodcock woods yellow young
Fréquemment cités
Page 175 - 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 13 - And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heaved stroke Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
Page 263 - We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Page 165 - With mazy error under pendent shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain...
Page 174 - Ode to a Nightingale MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness...
Page 152 - To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, And, sweet as Flora...
Page 283 - Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar Comes down upon the waters, all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse ; And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray.
Page 283 - Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.
Page 258 - Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence To heaven removed where first it grew, there grows, And flowers aloft shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream...
Page 283 - This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction ; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring . Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night...