The Sylphs of the Seasons, with Other Poems

W. Pople, 1813 - 164 páginas

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Página 41 - O'er ice-incrusted heath, In gleams of orange now, and green, And now in red and azure sheen, Like hues on dying dolphin seen, Most lovely when in death ; ; " Or seen at dawn of eastern light The frosty toil of Fays by night On pane of casement clear, Where bright the mimic glaciers shine, And Alps, with many a mountain pine, And armed knights from Palestine In winding march appear : " 'T was I on each enchanting scene The charm bestowed, that banished spleen Thy bosom pure and light.
Página 123 - Prithee, love," said the monster, " what mean these alarms ?" She hears not, she sees not the terrible charms, That work her to horror again. She opens her lids, but no longer her eyes Behold the fair youth she would woo ; Now appears the Paint-King in his natural guise ; His face, like a palette of villanous dyes, Black and white, red and yellow, and blue.
Página 128 - I am lost!" said the fiend, and he shook like a leaf; When, casting his eyes to the ground, He saw the lost pupils of Ellen, with grief, In the jaws of a mouse, and the sly little thief Whisk away from his sight with a bound.
Página 35 - And now a crimson'd knight of old, Or king in purple proud. And last, as sunk the setting sun, And Evening with her shadows dun, The gorgeous pageant past, Twas then of life a mimic shew, Of human grandeur here below, Which thus beneath the fatal blow Of Death must fall at last.
Página 43 - Though Autumn grave, and Summer fair, And joyous Spring, demand a share Of Fancy's hallowed power, Yet these I hold of humbler kind, To grosser means of earth confined, Through mortal sense to reach the mind. By mountain, stream, or flower. ' But mine, of purer nature still, Is that which to thy secret will Did minister unseen, Unfelt, unheard, when every sense Did sleep in drowsy indolence. And silence deep and night intense Enshrouded every scene; " That o'er thy teeming brain did raise The spirits...
Página 125 - With a rock for his muller he crushed every bone, But, though ground to jelly, still, still did she groan ; For life had forsook not the maid. Now, reaching his palette, with masterly care Each tint on its surface he spread ; The blue of her eyes, and the brown of her hair, And the pearl and the white of her forehead so fair, And her lips' and her cheeks
Página 118 - Yet doomed, like the moon, with no being to cheer The bright barren waste of her mind. But, rather than sit like a statue so still, When the...
Página 127 - But if I succeed, then, oh, fair Geraldine ! Thy promise with justice I claim, And thou, queen of Fairies, shall ever be mine, The bride of my bed ; and thy portrait divine Shall fill all the earth with my fame.
Página 123 - Black and white, red, and yellow, and blue. On the skull of a Titan, that Heaven defied, Sat the fiend, like the grim giant Gog, While aloft to his mouth a huge pipe he applied, Twice as big as the Eddystone Lighthouse, descried As it looms through an easterly fog. And anon, as he...
Página 127 - thou queen of my heart, Thy portrait I oft have essay'd ; Yet ne'er to the canvas could I with my art The least of thy wonderful beauties impart ; And my failure with scorn you repaid. " Now I swear by the light of the Comet-King's tail !

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