Lyra Australis: Or, Attempts to Sing in a Strange Land |
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angels arms art thou babe beauty beneath bird BIRTHDAY KING blessing blest breast breath bright brow calm child cold cometh crimson glory crystal cave curse dark death deep doth dream dreary earth evermore fade fair fall'n father's flowers friend of misery gaze gentle glad glee God's goeth golden grief hand hast hath heart heaven hidden flowers hour Lady life's light lips lonely look Lord Love's maiden MARTIN VAZ Messenger Knight mother neath never night o'er ocean palaces spring pale peace poor pray prayer Queen Ina rest rills seemed shine sigh sight silent sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul stars summer summer trees Sweet Oleander tears tell tender thee thine things thou art thought tone tribes of heaven Twas unto voice wandering wave weary weep white-winged dove wild wing Он
Popular passages
Page 291 - LEAKEY. [Thu well-known Tasmanian poetess published a volume entitled Lyra Australia; or. Attempts to Sing in a Strange Land (London : Bickers & Bush, 1854).] FINIS. MY little lamp, farewell ! My nights have passed away Like a quiet day, And thou their gentle sun. Farewell to midnight hours, Pleasant through all their pain ; In gladness I have lain Watching thy tiny ray. Farewell, thy kindly aid ! With thee must go along My time of secret song And tuneful solitude.
Page 211 - ... children, in their hottest glee ; Of dark-eyed boy and tiny lass, So early on the spangled grass, And shouting, each one with his might. Why feeling such a strange delight, If you should ask, not one could say, Save, "0, it is the first of May !
Page 3 - Then paused, and gazing round did sigh, As sadly to himself he said, — A time to die ! Autumn leaves were falling round — autumn leaves all pale and sere, — Falling, falling to the ground, whirling, whirling there and here ; Ere unto the earth they fell, to each other they did sigh, To each other they did tell, — All things have a time to die...
Page 5 - Tottering on their grave-bound way, thinking of a time to die. Pilgrims journeying on through strife, to each other did reply, — Oh, soon will end this weary life, for there is a time to die ! Sinners, looking terrified, with a loud and bitter cry, Fled along a dark road-side, flying from a time to die.
Page 286 - ... thing, Which cometh on a silent wing, And flappeth o'er the weary, Till it fanneth them to sleep,—• I am, O, how weary! but it passeth o'er my head. They tell me of a gentle one, That cometh when the day is done, And singeth by the weary, Till she singeth them to sleep,— I am, 0, how weary I but she will not sing to me.
Page 212 - That stirred not a flower, Nor drooping leaf? Not so the flutter of thy passing soul, Though fainter than the summer breath, which stirs Never the nest-strayed feather caught on burrs, For it would in me rouse a tempest-roll Of never-ceasing grief ! He stirs ! Lie still, my heart ! Thou who through these long hours hast quiet lain, Till I did think the fate that for this child Is feared had passed on thee — why now be wild, Leaping within my breast, as thou wert fain From thy pained sleep to start...
Page 287 - I but no finger scaleth it. They tell me of a cup so cool, With water from a slumbrous pool, Right pleasant to the thirsty, For it lulleth them to sleep,— I am, 0, how thirsty ! but that cup is drained dry. They tell me of another thing, Which hath a still more silent wing, And it flappeth o'er the weary, Till it fans away their breath; Its shadows are upon me,—I feel that fluttering wing.
Page 118 - Ye may tell me of flowers of crimson hue, And glorious tints of gold and blue, That sunnier heavens have brought to birth, And strewed like gems o'er thankless earth ; Where the sevenfold dye of the rainbow rests On starried crowns and glowing crests. But oh ! for the meadows of England's green, Set thick with the golden kingcup's sheen ; That the grass might seem a hidden deep, Where the gods of Nature their treasure keep.
Page 214 - I now thou shrink'st for God a hand to lift On thine own Isaac, and to plight the vow Which seals him ever His, And thy faith-trial completes. But rear thine altar, and thy lamb lay there ; Uplift thy slaying arm — when, lo ! behold Thy God, heard in that angel-voice of old, Directs thine eye unto the thicket where Thine Isaac's ransom bleats, It would be ever thus If we...
Page 31 - So hasten to the woods away, To valleys and to dells ; But bring not from the gardens gay Their bright and showy bells. Seek from the woodlands hidden flowers, - For the wearied one of pain ; They'll sing to her of fadeless bowers, Where grief comes not again.