Arliss's Literary collectionsJ. Arliss, 1825 - Всего страниц: 358 |
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Стр. 9
... rise . ' 22 Goldsmith . JUST once a year , when summer days are long , When town is empty , and the moors are throng- Just once a year I break the chains that bind , For pine long months , my body and my mind , And fly , with eager ...
... rise . ' 22 Goldsmith . JUST once a year , when summer days are long , When town is empty , and the moors are throng- Just once a year I break the chains that bind , For pine long months , my body and my mind , And fly , with eager ...
Стр. 14
... rise ! But ah ! this prophecy , though sage ' twas held , As Merlin's once , has never been fulfilled . Say , as you pass beneath the broad oak tree Which overhangs the path beside the lea , Or through the copse , or o'er the furzy down ...
... rise ! But ah ! this prophecy , though sage ' twas held , As Merlin's once , has never been fulfilled . Say , as you pass beneath the broad oak tree Which overhangs the path beside the lea , Or through the copse , or o'er the furzy down ...
Стр. 18
... rising among the Alpine snows , or gilding the peaks of the rugged hills with its evening rays . But within him he felt a fire burning for ever , and which the snows of his native mountains could not quench . He feared that he was alone ...
... rising among the Alpine snows , or gilding the peaks of the rugged hills with its evening rays . But within him he felt a fire burning for ever , and which the snows of his native mountains could not quench . He feared that he was alone ...
Стр. 23
... rise repel ; Fix my faith in the reality Of judgement , heav'n , and hell . Thy name but one , yet how various Different climes adore ! Nor are thy documents mysterious , When stript of priestly lore . Oft ceremony's made thy essence ...
... rise repel ; Fix my faith in the reality Of judgement , heav'n , and hell . Thy name but one , yet how various Different climes adore ! Nor are thy documents mysterious , When stript of priestly lore . Oft ceremony's made thy essence ...
Стр. 48
... rising mountains , red with heather bells ; Sweet the bubbling fountains and the dewy dales ; Sweet the snowy blossom of the thorny tree ! Sweeter is young Mary of Glensmole to me . There to fix my gaze , in raptures of delight , On her ...
... rising mountains , red with heather bells ; Sweet the bubbling fountains and the dewy dales ; Sweet the snowy blossom of the thorny tree ! Sweeter is young Mary of Glensmole to me . There to fix my gaze , in raptures of delight , On her ...
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arms Barnard Castle beautiful behold BETHLEM HOSPITAL bloom bosom Box Hill breast breath bright brow castle character charms cheek child church clouds cottage COUNTESS OF DEVONSHIRE dark daugh death delight Der Freischutz earth Evaline eyes fair father feelings flowers fortune garden genius glory grace grave hand happy hath heard heart heaven hills Holyrood Palace honour hour Kenilworth Castle King lady light live look Lord Mary mind morning mountains mourn nature never night Norham Castle o'er palace pass pleasure poet POOLEY BRIDGE poor pride queen rest rock rose round SAVOY PALACE scene Shakspeare side sigh Sir William Stanhope sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit sweet Tamworth tears tender thee thine thing thou thought tion tower trees village virtue walk Wallace's Cave weep wife wild young youth
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Стр. 160 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...
Стр. 345 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Стр. 159 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Стр. 159 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Стр. 159 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Стр. 194 - ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose, For in your beauty's orient deep . These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day, For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more...
Стр. 159 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
Стр. 76 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by death revealed!
Стр. 177 - Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw: There selfish faction rules the day, And pride and avarice throng the way; Diseases taint the murky air, And midnight conflagrations glare; Loose Revelry, and Riot bold, In frighted streets their orgies hold ; Or, where in silence all is drowned, Fell Murder walks his lonely round ; No room for peace, no room for you, Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieu!
Стр. 76 - And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart...