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Abergavenny Æneid antè appears beautiful blood Boabdil boat Canto character Childe Harold Coleridge death devil Don Alfonso Don Giovanni Don Juan Donna Inez doubt e'er Edinburgh Review English English poetry epic Eutropius eyes fair fame father favour feel genius Giaour Grandmother's Review Haidée heart heaven honour hope Juan's Julia Kirkby Mallory knew lady less letter living look'd Lord Byron maid mind Moore moral mother Muse ne'er never o'er pantisocracy pass'd passion perhaps person poem poet poetical poetry Pope praise reader rhyme Samian wine scarce seem'd ship soul Southey spirit stanza sublime sweet tears There's thing thou thought turn'd Twas verse virtue Wat Tyler wave wife William Wordsworth wind wine wish words Wordsworth write written Yarrow young youth
Página 313 - Soft hour! which wakes the wish and melts the heart | Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart; Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way As the far bell of vesper makes him start, Seeming to weep the dying day's decay; Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? iAh!
Página 305 - But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Página 78 - Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Página 304 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells : But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, Would break your shield, however broad.
Página 28 - Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow ! We will not see them ; will not go, To-day, nor yet to-morrow, Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow.
Página 211 - Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Página 184 - No more — no more — oh ! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee, Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?
Página 191 - Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain...