The Scenery-shower, with Word-paintings of the Beautiful, the Picturesque, and the Grand in Nature ...

Framsida
W.D. Ticknor & Company, 1844 - 119 sidor
 

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Sida 19 - A THING of beauty is a joy for ever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Sida 1 - Heaven In every breast hath sown these early seeds Of love and admiration, yet in vain, Without fair Culture's kind parental aid...
Sida 6 - The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,— And glowing into day...
Sida 23 - The sooty films that play upon the bars Pendulous, and foreboding in the view Of superstition prophesying still Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach.
Sida 13 - Beauty — a living presence of the earth, Surpassing the most fair ideal forms Which craft of delicate spirits hath composed From earth's materials — waits upon my steps ; Pitches her tents before me as I move, An hourly neighbour.
Sida 41 - Earth has not a plain So boundless or so beautiful as thine ; The eagle's vision cannot take it in : The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space, Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird : It is the mirror of the stars, where all Their hosts within the concave firmament, Gay marching to the music of the spheres, Can see themselves at once.
Sida 26 - Of mountain torrents ; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received Into the bosom of the steady lake.
Sida 41 - Thou tak'st thy moods and wear'st her colours on Thy faithful bosom ; morning's milky white, Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve ; And all thy balmier hours, fair Element, Have such divine complexion — crisped smiles, Luxuriant heavings, and sweet whisperings, That little is the wonder Love's own Queen From thee of old was fabled to have sprung...
Sida 50 - THE NEW MOON. WHEN, as the garish day is done, Heaven burns with the descended sun, 'Tis passing sweet to mark, Amid that flush of crimson light, The new moon's modest bow grow bright, As earth and sky grow dark. Few are the hearts too cold to feel A thrill of gladness o'er them steal, When first the wandering eye Sees faintly, in the evening blaze, That glimmering curve of tender rays Just planted in the sky. The sight...

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