File:Two centuries of song - or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years (1867) (14779659625).jpg

Identifier: twocenturiesofso00thor (find matches)
Title: Two centuries of song : or, Lyrics, madrigals, sonnets, and other occasional verses of the English poets of the last two hundred years
Year: 1867 (1860s)
Authors: Thornbury, Walter, 1828-1876
Subjects: English poetry
Publisher: London : Sampson, Low, Son and Marston
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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ite as Hebes, when her zone Shpt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid.—Break the mesh Of the Fancys silken leash ; (2uickly break her prison-string. And such joys as these shell bring : —Let the winged Fancy roam I Pleasure never is at home. IN A DREAR-NIGHTED DECEM1H:R. In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy Tree, Thy branches neer remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December,Too happy, happy Brook,Thy babblings neer rememberApollos summer look ;But with a sweet forgettingThey stay their crystal fretting.Never, never pettingAbout the frozen time. Ah, would twere so with manyA gentle girl and boy !But were there ever anyWrithed not at passed joy ?To know the change and feel it.When there is none to heal it,Nor numbed sense to steal it—Wcvs never said in rh\me.3 V, .V.
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^^ s PERCY EYSSHE SHELLEY This great genius, so early doomed, so cruelly exiled for errorsthat time and experience would have removed, is the greatest ofour Anglo-Italian poets whose natures have grown sweeter andfairer under a richer sun than that of England. Shelleys puremind delighted to shape creatures from the elements, and to infusethe fire from Heaven into those spirits of his own fashioning.Never since the times of yEschylus have such choruses beenwritten as those of his Prometheus Unbound ; and no one, withthe exception of a young poet (Mr. Swinburne, in our own day), hasniore completely caught the Greek feeling. ^t D <n^ LIx^JES TO AN INDIAN AIR. % ^ I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright : I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me—who knows how? To thy chamber window, sweet ! II G; ^ The wandering airs they faintOn the dark, the silent stream—The champak o

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