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angels Barry Cornwall beauty better birds bless blest breast breath bright charm cheerful child clouds dark dear death doth dream earth Eliza Cook eternity eyes faith fear feel flowers fool gentle give gold grave grief hand happy hath heart heaven honour hope hope and fear hour human idle labour life's light live look man's marriage mind morning nature Nature's never night o'er pain passion peace pleasure poor prayer religion rich round Shakespere sigh Sir Walter Scott sleep smile soft sorrow soul speak spirit stamp'd storm of passion sunbeam sweet Sweet day tear temper thee thine things Thomas Brown thought To-day to-morrow toil true truth twill virtue voice waves Way-Marks wear weary whisper wild winds wisdom wise woman words world turn young youth
101. oldal - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall : Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
21. oldal - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor...
49. oldal - Happy the man*, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire.
224. oldal - How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease ; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly...
91. oldal - tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, — its various tone, Each spring, — its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute; We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
288. oldal - The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill ; Where only merit constant pay receives, Is...
129. oldal - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar - for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard! - May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.
249. oldal - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
21. oldal - HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.