Poems (Classic Reprint)
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| Hersteller: | Forgotten Books (Author, Unknown) |
| Stand: | 2015-08-04 03:50:33 |
Produktbeschreibung
Excerpt from Poems Hester. When maidens such as Hester die, Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try, With vain endeavor. A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed, And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate, That flush´d her spirit. I know not by what name beside I shall it call: - if ´twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied, She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool, But she was train´d in Nature´s school, Nature had blest her. A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind, A hawk´s keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbour! gone before To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore, Some summer morning. When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet fore-warning? To Charles Lloyd, An Unexpected Visiter. Alone, obscure, without a friend, A cheerless, solitary thing, Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger out? What offering can the stranger bring Of social scenes, home-bred delights, That him in aught compensate may For Stowey´s pleasant winter nights, For loves and friendships far away? In brief oblivion to forego Friends, such as thine, so justly dear, And be awhile with me content To stay, a kindly loiterer, here: For this a gleam of random joy Hath flush´d my unaccustom´d cheek; And, with an o´ercharged bursting heart, I feel the thanks I cannot speak. Oh! sweet are all the Muses´ lays, And sweet the charm of matin bird; ´Twas long since these estranged ears The sweeter voice of friend had heard. The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds In memory´s ear in after time Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear, And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme. For, when the transient charm is fled, And when the little week is o´er, To cheerless, friendless, solitude When I return, as heretofore, Long, long, within my aching heart The grateful sense shall cherish´d be; I´ll think less meanly of myself, That Lloyd will sometimes think on me. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
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