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arms asked beauty better blue breath child close cold comes cried dark dead dear death don't door earth eyes face fair fall father fear feel feet fell gave girl give gone grave hand head hear heard heart heaven hold hope hour John keep kind knew lady land leave light live look lost mind Miss morning mother never night o'er once passed poor rest roll rose round seemed side sight smile soon soul sound speak stand stood strong sure sweet talk tears tell thee thing thou thought told took train turned Twas voice wait Wall watch wave wife wild wind woman wonder young
Сторінка 159 - WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell...
Сторінка 159 - He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe...
Сторінка 161 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round...
Сторінка 162 - The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, For ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand...
Сторінка 147 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's. isle ; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile : In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown : The heathen in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone.
Сторінка 217 - MAY I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self. In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.
Сторінка 147 - Waft, waft, ye winds, his story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ; Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign ! HEBEK.
Сторінка 175 - A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the Lake below. Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow .' Even in its very motion there was rest : While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West.
Сторінка 15 - HUSH ! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed ! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide ; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be ; When from heaven he descended...