Noetes ambrosianæ, Том 2

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Сторінка viii - The sleeper's long-drawn breath. Instead of the murmur of the sea, The sailor heard the humming tree Alive through all its leaves, The hum of the spreading sycamore That grows before his cottage door, And the swallow's song in the eaves.
Сторінка 50 - Our life is two-fold : Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence : Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
Сторінка 118 - In a few minutes he returned, and crouched down with an air of mortification at my feet. North. Ho ! ho ! the fairies have spirited away your nether integuments ! Tickler. Not an article to be seen ! — save and except my Mioes ! Jacket, waistcoat, flannel-shirt, breeches, all melted away with the mountain-dew.
Сторінка 237 - The vista'd joys of Heaven's eternal year : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! — Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night : Weep not for her...
Сторінка 382 - AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove...
Сторінка 127 - Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued ? No martial myriads muster in thy gate ; No suppliant nations in thy temple wait : No...
Сторінка 336 - Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again: Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show!
Сторінка viii - Oh ! many a dream was in the ship An hour before her death ! And sights of home with sighs disturbed The sleeper's long-drawn breath.
Сторінка xvi - Our pleasant follies are made the whips to scourge us,' as Lear says ; for otherwise what could possibly stand in the way of his nomination ? I trust it will take place, and give him the consistence and steadiness which are all he wants to make him the first man of the age.
Сторінка 247 - The sun rises bright in France, And fair sets he; But he has tint the blythe blink he had In my ain countree.

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