The works of Thomas Moore, Том 11832 |
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Страница xxxvii
... Look , for example , at what is the most finished and exquisite production of human art — the design and elevation of a Grecian temple , in its old severe simplicity . What penury of ornament - what neglect of beauties of detail - what ...
... Look , for example , at what is the most finished and exquisite production of human art — the design and elevation of a Grecian temple , in its old severe simplicity . What penury of ornament - what neglect of beauties of detail - what ...
Страница xli
... look only to posterity for a just estimate of their merits , must feel more or less un- certainty as to the ultimate result , even though they should appreciate their own productions as highly as Milton his Pa- radise Lost ; while they ...
... look only to posterity for a just estimate of their merits , must feel more or less un- certainty as to the ultimate result , even though they should appreciate their own productions as highly as Milton his Pa- radise Lost ; while they ...
Страница 7
... look from his balcony , the procession moved slowly on the road to Lahore . Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade so superb . From the gardens in the suburbs to the Imperial palace , it was one unbroken line of splendour . The ...
... look from his balcony , the procession moved slowly on the road to Lahore . Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade so superb . From the gardens in the suburbs to the Imperial palace , it was one unbroken line of splendour . The ...
Страница 23
... look of his ; When but to see him , hear him , breathe the air In which he dwelt , was thy soul's fondest prayer ! When round him hung such a perpetual spell , Whate'er he did , none ever did so well . Too happy days ! when , if he ...
... look of his ; When but to see him , hear him , breathe the air In which he dwelt , was thy soul's fondest prayer ! When round him hung such a perpetual spell , Whate'er he did , none ever did so well . Too happy days ! when , if he ...
Страница 30
... look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies - he bound her soul By a dark oath , in hell's own language framed , Never , while earth his mystic presence claim'd , While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both , Never ...
... look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies - he bound her soul By a dark oath , in hell's own language framed , Never , while earth his mystic presence claim'd , While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both , Never ...
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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!