The Works of Thomas Love Peacock: Maid Marian. Misfortunes of Elphin. Crotchet castle. Gryll grange

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Sir Henry Cole
R. Bentley and son, 1875
 

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256. oldal - The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
407. oldal - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
432. oldal - Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, The source of evil one, and one of good ; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, Blessings to these, to those distributes ills ; To most, he mingles both : the wretch decreed To taste the bad, unmix'd, is curst indeed ; Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, He wanders, outcast both of Earth and Heaven.
15. oldal - For the slender beech and the sapling oak That grow by the shadowy rill, You may cut down both at a single stroke, You may cut down which you will. But this you must know, that as long as they grow, Whatever change may be, You never can teach either oak or beech To be aught but a greenwood tree.
149. oldal - As we drove our prize at leisure, The king marched forth to catch us : His rage surpassed all measure, But his people could not match us. He fled to his hall-pillars ; And, ere our force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering, Spilt blood enough to swim in : We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with our foemen : The heroes and the cravens, The spearmen and the bowmen. We brought...
343. oldal - Happy the man - and happy he alone He who can call today his own, He who, secure within, can say 'Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of Fate are mine: Not Heaven itself upon the Past has power, But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.
148. oldal - The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter ; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition ; We met a host, and quelled it ; We forced a strong position, And killed the men who held it.
399. oldal - Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey ; Over rocks that are steepest Love will find out the way.
124. oldal - twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
283. oldal - He shrunk from the thorns, though he longed for the fruit With a word he arrested his courser's keen speed, And he stood up erect on the back of his steed ; On the saddle he stood, while the creature stood still, And he gathered the fruit, till he took his good fill. " Sure never," he thought, " was a creature so rare, So docile, so true, as my excellent mare.

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