The Isle of Bute in the Olden Time: With Illustrations, Maps, and Plans, Том 1

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Сторінка 107 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear — They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Сторінка 180 - Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, ' If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Сторінка 193 - I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history; And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men lie...
Сторінка 192 - Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Сторінка 1 - Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest...
Сторінка 169 - He wandered far ; much did he see of men, Their manners, their enjoyments and pursuits, Their passions, and their feelings ; chiefly those Essential and eternal in the heart, Which, 'mid the simpler forms of rural life, Exist more simple in their elements, And speak a plainer language. In the woods, A lone Enthusiast, and among the fields...
Сторінка 150 - At last — (it was the Christmas night; Stars shone after a day of storm) — He sees float past an iceberg white, And on it — Christ! — a living form. That furtive mien, that scowling eye, Of hair that red and tufted fell It is — Oh, where shall Brandan fly? — The traitor Judas, out of hell!
Сторінка 167 - At eve within yon studious nook, I ope my brass-embossed book, Portray'd with many a holy deed Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed : Then, as my taper waxes dim, Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn ; And at the close, the gleams behold Of parting wings bedropt with gold.
Сторінка 212 - Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away, He scoured the seas for many a day ; And now grown rich with plundered store, He steers his course for Scotland's shore.
Сторінка 67 - How many different rites have these grey old temples known? To the mind what dreams are written in these chronicles of stone! What terror and what error, what gleams of love and truth, Have flashed from these walls since the world was in its youth?

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