Poems, Том 2Hilliard, Gray, 1827 |
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Стр. 5
... Thou that gav'st me birth , And lineage , and once home , —my native Spain ! My own bright land - my father's land - my child's ! What hath thy son brought from thee to the wilds ? He hath brought marks of torture and the chain , Traces ...
... Thou that gav'st me birth , And lineage , and once home , —my native Spain ! My own bright land - my father's land - my child's ! What hath thy son brought from thee to the wilds ? He hath brought marks of torture and the chain , Traces ...
Стр. 6
... From man's ? —I will rejoice ! —my soaring soul Now hath redeem'd her birth - right of the day , And won , through clouds , to Him , her own unfetter'd way ! VIII . And thou , my boy ! that silent 6 THE FOREST SANCTUARY .
... From man's ? —I will rejoice ! —my soaring soul Now hath redeem'd her birth - right of the day , And won , through clouds , to Him , her own unfetter'd way ! VIII . And thou , my boy ! that silent 6 THE FOREST SANCTUARY .
Стр. 7
... thou wilt not dwell , Nor lift their banner , with a warrior's joy , Amidst the sons of mountain chiefs , who fell For Spain of old . - Yet what if rolling waves Have borne us far from our ancestral graves ! ? Thou shalt not feel thy ...
... thou wilt not dwell , Nor lift their banner , with a warrior's joy , Amidst the sons of mountain chiefs , who fell For Spain of old . - Yet what if rolling waves Have borne us far from our ancestral graves ! ? Thou shalt not feel thy ...
Стр. 8
... tempest bowing , Hath shrunk and died , those serpent - folds among . Alas ! alas ! -what is it that I see ? An image of man's mind , land of my sires , with thee ! XII . Yet art thou lovely ! -Song is on 00 THE FOREST SANCTUARY .
... tempest bowing , Hath shrunk and died , those serpent - folds among . Alas ! alas ! -what is it that I see ? An image of man's mind , land of my sires , with thee ! XII . Yet art thou lovely ! -Song is on 00 THE FOREST SANCTUARY .
Стр. 9
Mrs. Hemans. XII . Yet art thou lovely ! -Song is on thy hills- Oh sweet and mournful melodies of Spain , That lull'd my boyhood , how your memory thrills The exile's heart with sudden - wakening pain ! - Your sounds are on the rocks ...
Mrs. Hemans. XII . Yet art thou lovely ! -Song is on thy hills- Oh sweet and mournful melodies of Spain , That lull'd my boyhood , how your memory thrills The exile's heart with sudden - wakening pain ! - Your sounds are on the rocks ...
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ancient art thou beautiful bended Bow bless'd blue streams bowers breast breath breeze bright bright land Bring flowers brow burst call'd dark death deep didst dreams dust dwell earth England's dead ev'n fade faint fair fair brow falchion farewell fear fled floating fount gaze glance gleam gloom glow grave hath hear heard heart Heaven hour house of sleep hush'd joyous Lake of Lucerne land leave light lips lone look look'd lyre midst mighty mirth Moorish mournful night Odin Oronoco pale pass'd pine pour'd rest rills Rio verde round Sea-king seas seem'd shades shadows shining shore sigh silent sleep slumber smile soft soft eyes song soul sound Spain spears spirit spring stars stood storm streams sweet sword tears thee Theseus thine thou art Thou hast thou wert thought tomb tone voice wave weep wild wind woods wouldst thou young
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Стр. 190 - Give back the lost and lovely ! — those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown — But all is not thine own. To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown : Yet must thou hear a voice — Restore the dead ! Earth shall reclaim her...
Стр. 231 - midst the blooms of the morn may dwell, I tarry no longer — farewell, farewell ! The summer is coming, on soft winds borne, Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn '. For me, I depart to a brighter shore, Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more. I go where the loved who have left you dwell, And the flowers are not Death's — fare ye well, farewell ! THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
Стр. 91 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Стр. 225 - CHILD, amidst the flowers at play, While the red light fades away ; Mother, with thine earnest eye, Ever following silently ; Father, by the breeze of eve Call'd thy harvest work to leave — Pray : ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Стр. 97 - And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight, than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
Стр. 225 - Traveller, in the stranger's land, Far from thine own household band ; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath, not leave to dwell ; Sailor, on the darkening sea — Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Стр. 146 - Amidst the knightly ring: A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain, A voice of winds that would not sleep — He never smiled again. Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace Of vows once fondly pour'd, And strangers took the kinsman's...
Стр. 100 - Anon some wilder portraiture he draws ; Of Nature's savage glories he would speak, — The loneliness of earth that overawes, — Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique, The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak Nor...
Стр. 98 - In the solitude of the seas, we hail a star as a friend from whom we have long been separated. Among the Portuguese and the Spaniards peculiar motives seem to increase this feeling; a religious sentiment attaches them to a constellation, the form of which recalls the sign of the faith planted by their ancestors in the deserts of the New World.
Стр. 146 - He lived — for life may long be borne Ere sorrow break its chain ; Why comes not death to those who mourn ? He never smiled again ! There stood proud forms around his throne, The stately and the brave, But which could fill the place of one...