Records of Woman, with Other PoemsGilley, 1828 - 324 стор. |
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Сторінка 12
... voice , with that low tone Of earnest tenderness , which now , ev'n now , Seems floating thro ' my soul , were music taken For ever from this world , -oh ! thus forsaken , Could I bear on ? -thou liv'st , thou liv'st , thou'rt mine ...
... voice , with that low tone Of earnest tenderness , which now , ev'n now , Seems floating thro ' my soul , were music taken For ever from this world , -oh ! thus forsaken , Could I bear on ? -thou liv'st , thou liv'st , thou'rt mine ...
Сторінка 14
... voice ; my quick heart throbb'd too soon . I must keep vigil till yon rising moon Shower down less golden light . Beneath her beam Thro ' my lone lattice pour'd , I sit and dream Of summer lands afar , where holy love , Under the vine ...
... voice ; my quick heart throbb'd too soon . I must keep vigil till yon rising moon Shower down less golden light . Beneath her beam Thro ' my lone lattice pour'd , I sit and dream Of summer lands afar , where holy love , Under the vine ...
Сторінка 15
... voice within me hush'd That spoke sweet oracles ; and I return To lay my youth , as in a burial - urn , Where sunshine may not find it .-- All is lost ! No tempest met our barks - no billow toss'd ; Yet were they sever'd , ev'n as we ...
... voice within me hush'd That spoke sweet oracles ; and I return To lay my youth , as in a burial - urn , Where sunshine may not find it .-- All is lost ! No tempest met our barks - no billow toss'd ; Yet were they sever'd , ev'n as we ...
Сторінка 19
... , gentle friend ! How shall I bear this anguish to the end ? Aid ! -comes there yet no aid ? -the voice of blood Passes Heaven's gate , ev'n ere the crimson flood r Sinks thro ' the greensward ! -is there not a ARABELLA STUART . 19.
... , gentle friend ! How shall I bear this anguish to the end ? Aid ! -comes there yet no aid ? -the voice of blood Passes Heaven's gate , ev'n ere the crimson flood r Sinks thro ' the greensward ! -is there not a ARABELLA STUART . 19.
Сторінка 29
... voice , to bless thy child , Lay tones of love so deep , Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled- I leave thee ! let me weep ! - Mother ! I leave thee ! on thy breast , Pouring out joy and wo , I have found that holy place of rest Still ...
... voice , to bless thy child , Lay tones of love so deep , Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled- I leave thee ! let me weep ! - Mother ! I leave thee ! on thy breast , Pouring out joy and wo , I have found that holy place of rest Still ...
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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.