The league of the Alps, The siege of Valencia, The vespers of Palermo, and other poems

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Hilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins, 1826
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Сторінка 26 - 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. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!
Сторінка 128 - The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames rolled on. He would not go Without his father's word ; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He call'd aloud : — " Say, father ! say If yet my task is done ! " He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. " Speak, father !" once again he cried,
Сторінка 27 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Сторінка 25 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Сторінка 129 - The boy — oh ! where was he ? — Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea ! With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, '-,.< That well had borne their part — But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young faithful heart.
Сторінка 83 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Сторінка 145 - Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs Of Hope make melody where'er ye tread, And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness — how soon her...
Сторінка 61 - Into these glassy eyes put light — be still! keep down thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire — Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed! Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy head!
Сторінка 59 - Father!" at length he murmured low — and wept like childhood then— Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! — He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown — He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,
Сторінка 41 - HOW could Fancy crown with thee In ancient days the God of Wine, And bid thee at the banquet be Companion of the vine? Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o'er, Where song's full notes once peal'd around, But now are heard no more.

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