Alaric Watts: A Narrative of His Life, Volume 1

R. Bentley and son, 1884

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Page 115 - Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence ; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart ; Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange ; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone.
Page 334 - We laid thee down in thy sinless rest, and from thine infant brow Culled one soft lock of radiant hair, our only solace now; Then placed around thy beauteous corse, flowers, not more fair and sweet, Twin rose-buds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet. Though other offspring...
Page 336 - Unwither'd hopes, unwastert powers, And frames unworn by mortal pain. Such was the bright and genial flow Of life with us — ten years ago! Time...
Page 52 - When low, the mud half-cover'd and half-dry ; The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks, And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks; Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float, As the tide rolls by the impeded boat.
Page 179 - How much deeper power seemed to lie coiled up, as it were, in the recesses of her mind, than was ever manifested to the world in her writings ! Strange and sad does it seem that only the broken music of such a spirit should have been given to the earth — the full and finished harmony never drawn forth.
Page 335 - That germinate in hearts unseared by such a world as this! My sweet one! my sweet one! my fairest and my First! When I think of what thou might'st have been, my heart is like to burst; But gleams of gladness through my gloom their soothing radiance dart, And my sighs are hushed, my tears are dried, when I turn to what thou art ! Pure as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth, With not a ,taint of mortal life except thy mortal birth, God bade thee early taste the spring for which...
Page 117 - That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Page 142 - I presume it will readily be granted, that "all images drawn from what is beautiful or sublime in the works of NATURE, are MORE beautiful and sublime than any images drawn from ART," and that they are therefore, per se, more poetical. 'In like manner those PASSIONS of the human heart, which belong to Nature in general, are, per se, more adapted to the HIGHER SPECIES of Poetry, than those which are derived from incidental and transient MANNERS.
Page 336 - s the spirit's glow, That shone through all ten years ago ? I, too, am changed — I scarce know why, Can feel each flagging pulse decay ; And youth, and health, and visions high, Melt like a wreath of snow away. Time cannot, sure, have wrought the ill ; Though worn in this world's...
Page 337 - In soul and form, I linger still In the first summer month of life ; Yet journey on my path below, Oh ! how unlike — ten years ago ! But look not thus : I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive, When all around me seemed so fair.

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