The sonnets of William Wordsworth

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E. Moxon, 1899 - 477 pages
 

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Page 79 - Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous stream in bogs and sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever.
Page 77 - Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
Page 64 - Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good : Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow...
Page 146 - A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of power, assembled there, complain For kindred power departing from their sight : While Tweed best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue Than sceptered king or laurelled conqueror knows,...
Page 84 - Tis well ! from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought ; That by our own right hands it must be wrought, That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low.
Page 19 - High is our calling, Friend! Creative Art (Whether the instrument of words she use Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues) Demands the service of a mind and heart, Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part, Heroically fashioned to infuse Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse, While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
Page 75 - TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy Man of Men ! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den ;-- O miserable Chieftain ! where and when Wilt thou find patience...
Page 12 - Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course must hold ; Beyond the visible world She soars to seek, (For what delights the sense is false and weak) Ideal Form, the universal mould. The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest In that which perishes : nor will he lend His heart to aught which doth on time depend. 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, Which kills the soul: Love betters what is best, Even here below, but more in heaven above.
Page 12 - Thou shew to us Thine own true way No man can find it : Father! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind...
Page 146 - ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height : Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight ; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers,...

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