Records of Woman, with Other PoemsGilley, 1828 - 324 стор. |
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Сторінка 18
... things ! With you the peasant on the hills may dwell , And by the streams ; but I -- the blood of kings , A proud , unmingling river , thro ' my veins Flows in lone brightness , —and its gifts are chains ! Kings ! I had silent visions ...
... things ! With you the peasant on the hills may dwell , And by the streams ; but I -- the blood of kings , A proud , unmingling river , thro ' my veins Flows in lone brightness , —and its gifts are chains ! Kings ! I had silent visions ...
Сторінка 19
... things told Till the young weep with rapture , and the old Wonder , yet dare not doubt , -and thou , oh ! thou , Dost thou forget me in my hope's decay ? — Thou canst not ! —thro ' the silent night , ev'n now , I , that need prayer so ...
... things told Till the young weep with rapture , and the old Wonder , yet dare not doubt , -and thou , oh ! thou , Dost thou forget me in my hope's decay ? — Thou canst not ! —thro ' the silent night , ev'n now , I , that need prayer so ...
Сторінка 21
... thing , Guarded by swords of fire ? a hidden spring , A fabled fruit , that I should thus endure , As if the world within me held no cure ? Wherefore not spread free wings - Heaven , Heaven ! controul These thoughts - they rush - I look ...
... thing , Guarded by swords of fire ? a hidden spring , A fabled fruit , that I should thus endure , As if the world within me held no cure ? Wherefore not spread free wings - Heaven , Heaven ! controul These thoughts - they rush - I look ...
Сторінка 24
... thing In this cold world ! What were it then , if thou , With thy fond eyes , wert gazing on me now ? Too keen a pang ! -Farewell ! and yet once more , Farewell ! -the passion of long years I pour Into that word : thou hear'st not ...
... thing In this cold world ! What were it then , if thou , With thy fond eyes , wert gazing on me now ? Too keen a pang ! -Farewell ! and yet once more , Farewell ! -the passion of long years I pour Into that word : thou hear'st not ...
Сторінка 28
... things dear , Like shadows o'er me sweep , I leave my sunny childhood here , Oh , therefore let me weep ! I leave thee , sister ! we have play'd Thro ' many a joyous hour , Where the silvery green of the olive shade Hung dim o'er fount ...
... things dear , Like shadows o'er me sweep , I leave my sunny childhood here , Oh , therefore let me weep ! I leave thee , sister ! we have play'd Thro ' many a joyous hour , Where the silvery green of the olive shade Hung dim o'er fount ...
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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.