The Poetical Works of Robert Southey, Esq. ...: Minor poems

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1826

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Page 205 - You are old, father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away. And yet you lament not the days that are gone; Now tell me the reason, I pray.
Page 169 - COLD was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell, \V ide were the downs and shelterless and naked, When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey, Weary and way-sore. Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections ; Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom: She had no home, the world was all before her, She had no shelter. Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her ; " Pity me !" feebly cried the poor night wanderer.
Page 170 - Pity me !" she groaned out; Loud was the wind, unheard was her complaining, On went the horseman. Worn out with anguish, toil, and cold, and hunger, Down sunk the wanderer, sleep had seized her senses; There did the traveller find her in the morning, God had released her.
Page 204 - THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM. " You are old, Father William," the young man cried ; " The few locks which are left you are gray ; You are hale, Father William, — a hearty old man : Now tell me the reason, I pray.
Page 194 - YOUTH AND AGE. WITH cheerful step the traveller Pursues his early way, When first the dimly-dawning east Reveals the rising day. He bounds along his craggy road, He hastens up the height, And all he sees and all he hears Administer delight. And if the mist, retiring slow, Roll round its wavy white, He thinks the morning vapors hide Some beauty from his sight.
Page 204 - And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason, I pray. In the days of my youth...
Page 187 - Wide o'er the heathy hill or cowslipt dale ; Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove, Or with the streamlet wind along the vale. Sweet are these scenes to her ; and when the Night Pours in the north her silver streams of light, She woos Reflection in the silent gloom, And ponders on the world to come.
Page 164 - Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the world he wends; On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends ; With heaviness he casts his eye Upon the road before, And still remembers with a sigh The days that are no more.
Page 172 - And all the rustic train are gather 'd round, Each deftly dizen'd in his Sunday's best, And pleased to hail the day of piety and rest. And when, dim shadowing o'er the face of day, The mantling mists of even-tide rise slow, As...
Page 179 - THOUGH now no more the musing ear Delights to listen to the breeze, That lingers o'er the green-wood shade, I love thee, Winter ! well.

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