The works of Thomas Moore, Том 11832 |
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Страница ii
... well claim for Mr Moore what he deserves - the crown of patriotism ; but it is not on this head alone he is entitled to our praise . As a poet , since the lamented death of Byron , he stands almost without a ii A SKETCH OF THOMAS MOORE .
... well claim for Mr Moore what he deserves - the crown of patriotism ; but it is not on this head alone he is entitled to our praise . As a poet , since the lamented death of Byron , he stands almost without a ii A SKETCH OF THOMAS MOORE .
Страница vi
... head of the table ; Mr Moore sat on his right hand , and Mr Moore sen . ( since dead ) , a venerable old gentle- man , the father of our bard , was on his left . As soon as the cloth was removed , Non nobis , Domine , was sung by the ...
... head of the table ; Mr Moore sat on his right hand , and Mr Moore sen . ( since dead ) , a venerable old gentle- man , the father of our bard , was on his left . As soon as the cloth was removed , Non nobis , Domine , was sung by the ...
Страница xxxi
... head in a crowd - it belongs to an author , or the friend of one , and your great authors are supposed to possess a quantity of communicable celebrity : an intimacy with one of them is a sort of principality , and a stray anecdote ...
... head in a crowd - it belongs to an author , or the friend of one , and your great authors are supposed to possess a quantity of communicable celebrity : an intimacy with one of them is a sort of principality , and a stray anecdote ...
Страница xlvii
... heads like monks . When war and hunting formed almost the exclusive occu- pation of the great ; when their surplus revenues could only be employed in supporting idle retainers , and no better means could be devised for passing the long ...
... heads like monks . When war and hunting formed almost the exclusive occu- pation of the great ; when their surplus revenues could only be employed in supporting idle retainers , and no better means could be devised for passing the long ...
Страница lix
... head mocking the skies , that wars with the thunder - cloud and tempest , and round which the loud cataracts roar . We here conclude our Sketch of Anacreon Moore , To whom the Lyre and Laurels have been given , With all the trophies of ...
... head mocking the skies , that wars with the thunder - cloud and tempest , and round which the loud cataracts roar . We here conclude our Sketch of Anacreon Moore , To whom the Lyre and Laurels have been given , With all the trophies of ...
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Anacreon angels Arab bard beautiful beneath bird bliss blood bowers breath bright brow burning Caliph called Cashmere charm cheek dark dead dear death deep Delhi delightful dread dream earth eyes FADLADEEN falchion feel FERAMORZ fire flame flowers gardens Genii genius Ghebers glory gold HAFED Haram hath heart Heaven holy hour hyæna Indian IRAN's Khorassan King Koran Lake LALLA ROOKH light lips live look look'd Lord Byron lover lute maid minstrels MOKANNA moonlight Moore Moore's mountain Naptha never night NOURMAHAL o'er once PERI Persian poem poet poetry Princess pure round SCOTT WARING seem'd shining SHIRAZ shone sigh skies slave sleep smile song soul sound sparkling spirit star sunk sweet sword Tahmuras tears thee thine Thomas Moore thou thought throne Tibet Transoxiania tree turn'd Twas veil wave Waved plates wild wings wonder wretch young youth ZELICA
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Страница 299 - Alas — how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships, that have gone down at sea, When Heaven was all tranquillity...
Страница 66 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year ; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER.
Страница 65 - twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER...
Страница 154 - mid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath daybeam burn'd Upon a brow more fierce than that...
Страница xxxix - Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis...
Страница 133 - PARADISE AND THE PERI. ONE morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; And as she listened to the Springs Of Life within, like music flowing, And caught the light upon her wings Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place !
Страница 147 - I'd shed it all, To give thy brow one minute's calm. Nay, turn not from me that dear face — Am I not thine — thy own loved bride — The one, the chosen one, whose place In life or death is by thy side ! • Think'st thou that she, whose only light, In this dim world, from thee hath shone, Could bear the long, the cheerless night, That must be hers, when thou art gone ? That I can live, and let thee go, Who art my life itself? — No, no — When the stem dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart...
Страница 157 - Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace ?
Страница 156 - Lisping th' eternal name of God From purity's own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes Are lifted to the glowing skies, Like a stray babe of Paradise, Just lighted on that flowery plain, And seeking for its home again...
Страница 139 - Downward the Peri turns her gaze, And through the war-field's bloody haze Beholds a youthful warrior stand Alone beside his native river. The red blade broken in his hand And the last arrow in his quiver. "Live," said the conqueror, "live to share The trophies and the crowns I bear!