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Anselmo arms bear beautiful beneath blood breast breath breeze bright brow child clear clouds cold Constance dark dead death deep doth dreams dwell e'en earth Eribert face fair father fear flowers gaze gentle give glad glance glorious gone grave green grief hall hand hath head hear heard heart Heaven hope hour land leaves light lips live lone look meet midst Montalba mother night noble NOTE o'er once pale pass'd peace Procida proud Raimond rest rose round SCENE silent sleep smile soft song soul sound speak spirit stars step stood stream strong sweet sword tears tell thee thine things thou thou art Thou hast thoughts tone unto Vittoria voice wave wild winds woods young youth
Сторінка 237 - 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 293 - 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 254 - 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 268 - Yet speak to me ! I have outwatch'd the stars, And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee. Speak to me ! I have wander'd o'er the earth, And never found thy likeness — Speak to me ! Look on the fiends around — they feel for me : I fear them not, and feel for thee alone — Speak to me ! though it be...
Сторінка 291 - 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 156 - Through many a joyous hour, Where the silvery green of the olive shade Hung dim o'er fount and bower. Yes, thou and I, by stream, by shore, In song, in prayer, in sleep, Have been, as we may be no more ; Kind sister, let me weep...
Сторінка 137 - I come, I come ! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Сторінка 311 - A change we have found there — and many a change! Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange ! Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, And the young that were have a brow of care, And the place is hush'd where the children play'd — Nought looks the same, save the nest we made...
Сторінка 141 - Yet further may relent : for mightier far Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast. But if thou goest, I follow...
Сторінка 291 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.