The spirit of the woods, by the author of 'The moral of flowers'.1837 |
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Стр. vi
Rebecca Hey. lays on flowers , will not less favourably regard her sylvan musings . The transition seemed natural and easy from the flower which decks the greensward to the tree that shelters it . The main difficulty was how to vary the ...
Rebecca Hey. lays on flowers , will not less favourably regard her sylvan musings . The transition seemed natural and easy from the flower which decks the greensward to the tree that shelters it . The main difficulty was how to vary the ...
Стр. vii
... sylvan scenery . " What can afford more de- lightful contrast in landscape , " says a tasteful au- thor , " than the giant strength of the oak with the flexile elegance of the ash ; the stately tran- quillity of the elm with the ...
... sylvan scenery . " What can afford more de- lightful contrast in landscape , " says a tasteful au- thor , " than the giant strength of the oak with the flexile elegance of the ash ; the stately tran- quillity of the elm with the ...
Стр. viii
... 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 . " A source of great additional interest has been the preparation of ...
... 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 . " A source of great additional interest has been the preparation of ...
Стр. xiv
... sylvan beauty give thy votive lay . " Hail , ye patrician trees ! " th ' ambitious muse , Who , late , in lowlier mood , did wreath her lyre With the wild flowers that at your foot diffuse Their never - cloying sweets , doth now aspire ...
... sylvan beauty give thy votive lay . " Hail , ye patrician trees ! " th ' ambitious muse , Who , late , in lowlier mood , did wreath her lyre With the wild flowers that at your foot diffuse Their never - cloying sweets , doth now aspire ...
Стр. xvi
Rebecca Hey. Let but the storm your slumbering might arouse , Then , sylvan minstrels , is your power confess'd ; Anon , when Eve , with breath " that shuts the rose " Just stirs your leaves with motion that seems rest , Oh ! with what ...
Rebecca Hey. Let but the storm your slumbering might arouse , Then , sylvan minstrels , is your power confess'd ; Anon , when Eve , with breath " that shuts the rose " Just stirs your leaves with motion that seems rest , Oh ! with what ...
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The Spirit of the Woods, by the Author of 'The Moral of Flowers' Rebecca Hey Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
adorn alder alluded amongst ancient Arbutus autumn banyan beauty beech beneath berries birch birks of Aberfeldy bloom blossoms boughs bower branches breath bright brow cedar cherry clusters crown cultivated cypress dark doth earth Evelyn evergreens fair fair brow fancy feel flowers foliage forest fragrance fruit garden genus Gilpin gives gloom glory glow graceful green ground grove grows growth hath hawthorn hazel heart heaven height holly honour LAURUS NOBILIS leaf leaves misletoe Mount Ida mountain mountain ash myrtle native nature Norway spruce o'er olive paliurus palm peace pine plant poet pyracantha rock rose sacred says scene scenery seem'd shade Shakspeare shrubs smile soil solemn song species spell spring summer sweet sylvan tears temple thee Thomas Dick Lauder thorns thou timber tint tree vine Virgil weeping whilst wild wild cherry willow wood yield
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Стр. 95 - Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
Стр. 151 - I saw them under a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood : I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element, That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i
Стр. 92 - Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Стр. 14 - Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.
Стр. 271 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Стр. 183 - The fig-tree ; not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between...
Стр. 2 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow — When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Стр. 121 - It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days that cannot die ; When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand ; and turned my steps...
Стр. 173 - Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, In Desolation unrepining, Without a hope on earth to find A mirror in an answering mind, Meek souls there are, who little dream Their daily strife an Angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
Стр. 258 - Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye. ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within...