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Сторінка 191 - But above the cross there glistened A golden Coronet. For her the obsequious beadle The inner door flung wide; Lightly, as up a ball-room, Her footsteps seemed to glide,— There might be good thoughts in her, For all her evil pride. But after her a woman Peeped wistfully within, On whose wan face was graven Life's hardest...
Сторінка 94 - Not in the rude compiler's painted shell, But in thine own memorials of live stone, And in the pictures of thy kneeling princes, And in the lofty words on lofty tombs, And in the breath of ancient chroniclers, And in the music of the outer sea.
Сторінка 61 - Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian ? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, By bards who died content on pleasant sward, Leaving great verse unto a little clan ? O, give me their old vigour, and unheard Save of the quiet Primrose, and the span Of heaven and few ears, Rounded by thee, my song should die away Content as theirs, Rich in the simple worship of a day.
Сторінка 94 - Now the tones become clearer— you hear more and more How the water divided returns on the oar — Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair ? Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare? Oh ! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view, ' ' I am passing — preme — but I stay not for you...
Сторінка 138 - The name, into whose splendour thou wert born, Thou art about to change for that which stands Writ on the proudest work* that mortal hands Have raised from earth, Religion to adorn. Take it rejoicing, — take with thee thy dower, Britain's best blood, and Beauty ever new, Being of mind ; may the cool northern dew Still rest upon thy leaves, transplanted flower ! Mingling thy English nature, pure and true, With the bright growth of each Italian hour.
Сторінка 189 - Yet lay he to the sacred wall As close as he was able; The blessed crumbs might almost fall Upon him from God's table. Who was this father of the Church So secret in his glory? In vain might antiquarians...
Сторінка 192 - Peep'd wistfully within, On whose wan face was graven Life's hardest discipline — The trace of the sad trinity Of weakness, pain, and sin. The few free-seats were crowded Where she could rest and pray ; With her worn garb contrasted Each side in fair array — " God's house holds no poor sinners,
Сторінка 94 - When along the light ripple the far serenade Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid, She may open the window that looks on the stream, — She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream ; Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,
Сторінка 154 - SAVE where Garganus, with low-ridged bound, Protects the North; the eye outstretching far Surveys one sea of gently-swelling ground, A fitly-moulded " Orchestra of War." Here Aufidus, between his humble banks With wild thyme plotted, winds along the plain, A devious path, as when the serried ranks Passed over it, that passed not back again. The long-horned herds enjoy the cool delight, Sleeping half-merged, to shun the deep sun-glow, Which, that May-morning,* dazed the Roman sight, But fell innocuous...
Сторінка 14 - Not only with her antique properties, But with all other gifts and privilege, Within the circle of his regal hand. Now forward, — forward on a beaming path, But be each step as fair as hope has feigned it, For me, the memory of the little while, That here I rested happily, within The close-drawn pale of English sympathies, Will bear the fruit of many an after-thought, Bright in the dubious track of after-years. A DREAM OF SAPPHO. THB range of rocks which forms the

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