Quotes about sylvan, page 4
Metamorphoses: Book The Eleventh
HERE, while the Thracian bard's enchanting strain
Sooths beasts, and woods, and all the listn'ing
plain,
The female Bacchanals, devoutly mad,
In shaggy skins, like savage creatures, clad,
Warbling in air perceiv'd his lovely lay,
And from a rising ground beheld him play.
When one, the wildest, with dishevel'd hair,
That loosely stream'd, and ruffled in the air;
Soon as her frantick eye the lyrist spy'd,
See, see! the hater of our sex, she cry'd.
Then at his face her missive javelin sent,
Which whiz'd along, and brusht him as it went;
But the soft wreathes of ivy twisted round,
Prevent a deep impression of the wound.
Another, for a weapon, hurls a stone,
Which, by the sound subdu'd as soon as thrown,
Falls at his feet, and with a seeming sense
Implores his pardon for its late offence.
The Death of But now their frantick rage unbounded grows,
[...] Read more
The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dubito ergo sum - I doubt therefore I am
quote by Kayvan Sylvan
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My progress was rendered delightful by the sylvan elegance of the groves, chearful meadows, and high distant forests, which in grand order presented themselves to view.
quote by William Bartram
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Last Verse
Now a stream may be a lady,
Or a gentleman serene,
Who, by sunlit ways and shady,
Graces many a sylvan scene,
But that wild, wild woodman, Snowy
Crude, uncultured, swift to rage,
He's a hill bloke, flash and showy
Roaring down in his rampage......
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Ravaged Villa
In shards the sylvan vases lie,
Their links of dance undone,
And brambles wither by thy brim,
Choked fountain of the sun!
The spider in the laurel spins,
The weed exiles the flower:
And, flung to kiln, Apollo's bust
Makes lime for Mammon's tower.
poem by Herman Melville
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Songs In The Masque Of Alfred: To Peace
O Peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
The vale, the fountain, and the grove,
With every softer scene of love:
Return, sweet Peace! and cheer the weeping swain!
Return, with Ease and Pleasure in thy train.
poem by James Thomson
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Autumnal Love
Wandering a sylvan paradise
we would relish in our colorful world.
We were so happy; us the forest would entice.
Soaking up the cloud's lust,
we would lay in fields of grass.
Nothing upon Earth's crust
nor below could separate this lad and lass.
We loved autumn, for winter was soon here.
I loved autumn because of you, my dear.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Verses Ty'd About A Fawn's Neck
As thro' this sylvan Scene I stray'd,
I saw and lov'd the Iv'ry Maid:
And hearing that she fled from Man,
I begg'd this Form of mighty Pan;
To try, by ev'ry winning Art,
To gain Possession of her Heart;
When raging Tempests cloud the Sky,
Transported at her Feet to lie;
When Phoebus brightens up the Weather,
To trip it o'er the Lawns together.
poem by Mary Barber
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