„Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear
Thou ever wilt remain;
One only hope my heart can cheer,—
The hope to meet again.

Oh, fondly on the past I dwell,
And oft recall those hours
When, wandering down the shady dell,
We gathered the wild-flowers.

Yes, life then seemed one pure delight,
Tho' now each spot looks drear;
Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight,
To memory thou art dear.

Oft in the tranquil hour of night,
When stars illume the sky,
I gaze upon each orb of light,
And wish that thou wert by.

I think upon that happy time,
That time so fondly loved,
When last we heard the sweet bells chime,
As thro' the fields we roved.“

Song, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919). This song was written and composed by Linley for Mr. Augustus Braham, and sung by him. It is not known when it was written,—probably about 1830. Another song, entitled "Though lost to Sight, to Memory dear," was published in London in 1880, purporting to have been written by Ruthven Jenkyns in 1703 and published in the "Magazine for Mariners". That magazine, however, never existed, and the composer of the music acknowledged, in a private letter, that he copied the words from an American newspaper. The reputed author, Ruthven Jenkyns, was living, under another name, in California in 1882.

Übernommen aus Wikiquote. Letzte Aktualisierung 12. Mai 2022. Geschichte
George Linley Foto
George Linley3
British writer 1798 - 1865

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„O harmony! thou tenderest nurse of pain,
If that thy note's sweet magic e'er can heal
Griefs which the patient spirit oft may feel,
Oh! let me listen to thy songs again;
Till memory her fairest tints shall bring;
Hope wake with brighter eye, and listening seem
With smiles to think on some delightful dream.“

—  William Lisle Bowles English priest, poet and critic 1762 - 1850

Music, from The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1 - With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes by George Gilfillan (1855).

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„T is but a little faded flower,
But oh, how fondly dear!
'T will bring me back one golden hour,
Through many a weary year.“

—  Ellen Clementine Howarth American writer 1827 - 1899

'Tis but a Little, Faded Flower, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).

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„Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.“

—  Samuel Rogers British poet 1763 - 1855

II, l. 1-2.
The Pleasures of Memory (1792)

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„Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells
Of youth and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!“

—  Thomas Moore Irish poet, singer and songwriter 1779 - 1852

Those evening Bells.
Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919)

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„I envy thee, thou careless wind!
How light, how wild thy wandering :
Thou hast no earthly chain, to bind
One fetter on thy airy wing.“

—  Letitia Elizabeth Landon English poet and novelist 1802 - 1838

(2nd August 1823) both from Songs
The London Literary Gazette, 1823

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„A place in thy memory, dearest,
Is all that I claim;
To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.“

—  Gerald Griffin Irish novelist, poet and playwright 1803 - 1840

A Place in thy Memory, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).

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„But am I not the nobler thro' thy love?
O three times less unworthy! likewise thou
Art more thro' Love, and greater than thy years.“

—  Alfred, Lord Tennyson British poet laureate 1809 - 1892

" Love and Duty http://www.readbookonline.net/read/4310/14259/", l. 1- 21 (1842)
Kontext: Of love that never found his earthly close,
What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts?
Or all the same as if he had not been?
Not so. Shall Error in the round of time
Still father Truth? O shall the braggart shout
For some blind glimpse of freedom work itself
Thro' madness, hated by the wise, to law
System and empire? Sin itself be found
The cloudy porch oft opening on the Sun?
And only he, this wonder, dead, become
Mere highway dust? or year by year alone
Sit brooding in the ruins of a life,
Nightmare of youth, the spectre of himself!
If this were thus, if this, indeed, were all,
Better the narrow brain, the stony heart,
The staring eye glazed o'er with sapless days,
The long mechanic pacings to and fro,
The set gray life, and apathetic end.
But am I not the nobler thro' thy love?
O three times less unworthy! likewise thou
Art more thro' Love, and greater than thy years.

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