Records of Woman, with Other PoemsGilley, 1828 - 324 стор. |
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... Hour of Romance , 254 The Effigies , • A Voyager's Dream of Land , The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England , 257 261 265 The Spirit's Mysteries , The Departed , 268 271 · The Palm - tree , 275 • The Child's Last Sleep , 279 ...
... Hour of Romance , 254 The Effigies , • A Voyager's Dream of Land , The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England , 257 261 265 The Spirit's Mysteries , The Departed , 268 271 · The Palm - tree , 275 • The Child's Last Sleep , 279 ...
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... hearted , Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour , Ev'n like the mingling of sweet streams , beneath Dim woven leaves , and midst the floating breath Of hidden forest flowers . II . ' Tis past ! -I wake , A 10 RECORDS OF WOMAN .
... hearted , Blent the glad fulness of our thoughts that hour , Ev'n like the mingling of sweet streams , beneath Dim woven leaves , and midst the floating breath Of hidden forest flowers . II . ' Tis past ! -I wake , A 10 RECORDS OF WOMAN .
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... hours of care ! I have not watch'd in vain , serenely scorning The wild and busy whispers of despair ! Thou has sent ... hour ! Will not my heart , o'erburden'd by its bliss , Faint and give way within me , as a flower Borne down and ...
... hours of care ! I have not watch'd in vain , serenely scorning The wild and busy whispers of despair ! Thou has sent ... hour ! Will not my heart , o'erburden'd by its bliss , Faint and give way within me , as a flower Borne down and ...
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... hour's o'ershadowing fearfulness , Thee , its first love ! -oh ! tender still , and true ! Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name , Tho ' but a moment . Now , with fainting frame , With soul ...
... hour's o'ershadowing fearfulness , Thee , its first love ! -oh ! tender still , and true ! Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw Drops from its bitter fountain on thy name , Tho ' but a moment . Now , with fainting frame , With soul ...
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... hours a thought , dear friend ! Down to my voiceless chamber ; for thy love Hath been to me all gifts of earth above , Tho ' bought with burning tears ! It is the sting Of death to leave that vainly - precious thing In this cold world ...
... hours a thought , dear friend ! Down to my voiceless chamber ; for thy love Hath been to me all gifts of earth above , Tho ' bought with burning tears ! It is the sting Of death to leave that vainly - precious thing In this cold world ...
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ARABELLA STUART art thou beautiful beneath bird bosom bow'd breast breath breeze bright bright land brightly brow cheek child Childe Harold dark dead death deep dream dust dwell earth Eudora Ev'n fair fear floating flowers forest fount gaze gentle glad glance gleam gloom glow gone grave green grief hair hath haunted heart heaven holy hour human voice hush'd JOANNA BAILLIE leaves light lip's lips lone look'd lov'd lyre MADAME DE STAEL mantle midst mother mournful murmur night o'er pale pass'd pour'd prayer press'd proud RHEIMS rose round Seem'd shade shadow silent silvery sleep smile soft solemn song soul sound spirit stood stream strong sunny sweet sword tears tender thee thine things thou art Thou hast thou wert Thou'rt thought thro tomb tone Twas unto voice wandering wave weep whisper wild wind woman's woods young youth
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Сторінка 265 - 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 269 - Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre.
Сторінка 263 - 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 266 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Сторінка 264 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth.
Сторінка 171 - THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Сторінка 242 - Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell ! Here are sweet sounds, which thou lovest well ; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune ; And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard.
Сторінка 202 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
Сторінка 288 - BERNARD BARTON. BY the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd, By the household tree through which thine eye First look'd in love to the summer sky, By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious — oh ! guard it well...
Сторінка 302 - One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade. The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.