A Year of Country Life; Or, The Chronicle of the Young Naturalists

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S.P.C.K., 1853 - 247 páginas

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Página 80 - There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh ! with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God ! There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays ; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise.
Página 153 - O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
Página 117 - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Página 240 - On Christmas eve the bells were rung, On Christmas eve the mass was sung: * That only night in all the year Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
Página 140 - E'en from thyself, thy loathsome heart to hide {The mansion then no more of joy serene), Where fear, distrust, malevolence, ahide, And impotent desire, and disappointed pride? O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields...
Página 176 - Where heath and fern were waving wide ; The sun's last glance was glinted back, From lance and glaive, from targe and jack,— The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold gray stone.
Página 41 - True symbol of hope's foolishness, whose strong And unreproved enchantment led us on By rocks and pools shut out from every star, All the green summer, to forlorn cascades Among the windings hid of mountain brooks. —Unfading recollections ! at this hour The heart is almost mine with which I felt, From some hill-top on sunny afternoons, The paper kite high among fleecy clouds Pull at her rein like an impetuous courser...
Página 97 - A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay. A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon. A swarm of bees in July is not worth a fly.
Página 140 - O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven...
Página 144 - Thou crownest the year with thy goodness ; and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness; and the little hills rejoice on every sida The pastures are clothed with flocks ; the valleys also are covered over with corn ; they shout for joy, they also sing.

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