Lyrical Ballads: With Pastoral and Other PoemsT.N. Longman and O.Rees, 1802 |
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Side 133
... look'd him in the face , An Angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew , it was a Fiend , This miserable Knight ! And how , unknowing what he did , He leapt amid a murd'rous Band , And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death The Lady of ...
... look'd him in the face , An Angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew , it was a Fiend , This miserable Knight ! And how , unknowing what he did , He leapt amid a murd'rous Band , And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death The Lady of ...
Side 135
... And bending back her head look'd up , And gaz'd upon my face . ' Twas partly Love , and partly Fear , And partly ' twas a bashful Art That I might rather feel than see The Swelling of her Heart . I calm'd her fears ; and she was calm , 135.
... And bending back her head look'd up , And gaz'd upon my face . ' Twas partly Love , and partly Fear , And partly ' twas a bashful Art That I might rather feel than see The Swelling of her Heart . I calm'd her fears ; and she was calm , 135.
Side 162
... look'd upon the rotting Sea , And drew my eyes away ; I look'd upon the ghastly deck , And there the dead men lay . I look'd to Heaven , and try'd to pray ; But or ever a prayer had gusht , A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry ...
... look'd upon the rotting Sea , And drew my eyes away ; I look'd upon the ghastly deck , And there the dead men lay . I look'd to Heaven , and try'd to pray ; But or ever a prayer had gusht , A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry ...
Side 163
... look'd on me , Had never pass'd away . An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high : But O ! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days , seven nights I saw that curse , And yet I could not die ...
... look'd on me , Had never pass'd away . An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high : But O ! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days , seven nights I saw that curse , And yet I could not die ...
Side 176
... draw my eyes from theirs Nor turn them up to pray . And now this spell was snapt : once more I view'd the ocean green , And look'd far forth , yet little saw Of what had else been seen . Like one , that on a lonesome road Doth walk 176.
... draw my eyes from theirs Nor turn them up to pray . And now this spell was snapt : once more I view'd the ocean green , And look'd far forth , yet little saw Of what had else been seen . Like one , that on a lonesome road Doth walk 176.
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
Albatross ancient Mariner Babe Beneath Betty Foy Betty's birds black lips breeze chatter cold composition dead dear door endeavoured excitement fair fear feelings Friend Goody Blake green happy Harry Gill hath hear heard heart high crag Hill of moss hope Idiot Boy Johnny Johnny's Kilve land of mist language limbs Liswyn farm live look'd looks LYRICAL BALLADS Martha Ray metre metrical mind mist moon moonlight mountain mov'd nature never night numbers o'er objects oh misery old Susan pain pass'd passion pleasure Poems Poet Poet's Poetry Pond Pony poor old poor Susan porringer pray produced prose Quoth Reader Ship silent Simon Lee song soul spirit Stephen Hill stood Susan Gale sweet tale tautology tears tell thee There's things Thorn thou thought thro tion truth Twas verse voice wedding-guest wherefore wild wind wood words Young Harry
Populære passager
Side 195 - The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colors and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Side 196 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
Side vii - Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language...
Side 198 - My dear dear Friend ; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh ! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear dear Sister! and this prayer I make Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life, to lend From joy to joy...
Side xxxviii - The remotest discoveries of the Chemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist will be as proper objects of the Poet's art as any upon which it can be employed if the time should ever come when these things shall be familiar to us and the relations under which they are contemplated by the followers of these respective sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings.
Side 153 - All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.
Side xxxvii - He is the rock of defence for human nature; an upholder and preserver, carrying everywhere with him relationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs : in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed; the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
Side 194 - In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless day-light ; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye ! Thou wanderer thro...
Side 92 - Tis the merry Nightingale That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates With fast thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul Of all its music...
Side 192 - These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!