The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) - Gredos ...

More documents

Recommendations

Info

The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) With heartfelt gladness in her look. [135] [136] Think’st thou, when such a scene I see, My thoughts will not revert to thee? To thee!—that night!—but ah! ‘tis o’er; Th’ unwelcome theme I’ll urge no more; No more, since thou hast sorrow felt, And “ bent the knee where I have knelt.” Italia’s gales now bear my song “In soft-link’d notes her woods among;” There mouldering columns silent stand, Bound up by many an osier band, While arms of oak, enfolding all, Keep the huge fragment from its fall: I mark alike weak Tiber’s flow, And see his thirsty channel low; I see, where temples used to stand, One scatter’d ruin o’er the land; Yet see the statues breathing still, That once might live, as sure they will; There sister Painting, too, I hear, Almost gives whispers to my ear; While Melody, surviving all, Lets her sweet cadence ever fall, And every voice in tuneful lay, Bears the soft harmony away. There love’s soft blandishments entwine Round every human heart but mine; What though Italia’s nymphs I find More charming than half womankind; Yet, as they are not like to thee, Italia’s nymphs are nought to me! On Virgil’s tomb I’ll hang my lyre, There shall the rust consume the wire; Sigh to the winds in low return, And o’er his sacred ashes mourn, While one weak string is left to bear The plaintive murmur through the air; Nor poesy again be chose The vehicle of bosom-woes.
The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) Vain, vain’s the skill, the trial’s o’er, And Italy shall charm no more; No more shall France, in spirits wild, Dress up the humours of her child; Home I return to breathe with thee The better air of Liberty; To breathe near thee must have some power O’er the dark demons of the hour! Fear not, my Anna, I shall tell How long I’ve lov’d, and ah! how well; To this one wish my soul shall bend— “To be alone thy bosom-friend !” THE MOURNER. EDWIN AND ALICIA. A TALE. MANY are the mournful stories Which the page of love unfolds; Many are the piercing sorrows Which that faithful record holds. [137] . Love, that jewel of our nature, Parents oft have sought to buy; But ‘tis merit makes the purchase, Or ‘tis fancy casts the die. Tis not wealth, nor sordid riches, That are treasures of the mind; No;—’tis surely sweet contentment Which in humble breasts we find. Think not, parents, that your children Can your sober plans pursue, Or your influence bind their natures E’er to think or act like you.
Page 1 and 2:
The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical
Page 3 and 4:
Page 5 and 6:
Page 7 and 8:
Page 9 and 10:
Page 11 and 12:
Page 13 and 14:
Page 15 and 16:
Page 17 and 18:
Page 19 and 20:
Page 21 and 22:
Page 23 and 24:
Page 25 and 26:
Page 27 and 28:
Page 29 and 30:
Page 31 and 32:
Page 33 and 34:
Page 35 and 36:
Page 37 and 38:
Page 39 and 40:
Page 41 and 42:
Page 43 and 44:
Page 45 and 46:
Page 47 and 48:
Page 49 and 50:
Page 51 and 52:
Page 53 and 54:
Page 55 and 56:
Page 57 and 58:
Page 59 and 60:
Page 61 and 62:
Page 63 and 64:
Page 65 and 66:
Page 67 and 68:
Page 69 and 70:
Page 71 and 72: The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical
Page 121: The Salamanca Corpus: The Poetical
Page 173 and 174:
Page 175 and 176:
Page 177 and 178:
Page 179 and 180:
Page 181 and 182:
Page 183 and 184:
Page 185 and 186:
Page 187 and 188:
Page 189 and 190:
Page 191 and 192:
Page 193 and 194:
Page 195 and 196:
Page 197 and 198:
Page 199 and 200:
Page 201 and 202:
Page 203 and 204:
Page 205 and 206:
Page 207 and 208:
Page 209 and 210:
Page 211 and 212:
Page 213 and 214:
show all

The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire (1842) - Gredos ...

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?