The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth CenturyJ. Sharpe, 1830 - 360 страници |
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Страница 11
... cold and careless looks , wilt often pass me by , Unconscious of my swelling heart , and of my wistful eye ; Though thou wilt wed some Highland love , nor waste one thought on me , - Here's a health , my Scottish lassie ! here's a ...
... cold and careless looks , wilt often pass me by , Unconscious of my swelling heart , and of my wistful eye ; Though thou wilt wed some Highland love , nor waste one thought on me , - Here's a health , my Scottish lassie ! here's a ...
Страница 16
... leaves are as a spell To bring the sainted past before me ; And long - lost visions loved too well , In all their truth restore me . Cold is her hand who placed thee here , Thou The May-flowers of Life By Alaric A Watts.
... leaves are as a spell To bring the sainted past before me ; And long - lost visions loved too well , In all their truth restore me . Cold is her hand who placed thee here , Thou The May-flowers of Life By Alaric A Watts.
Страница 17
Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth Century Lyre. Cold is her hand who placed thee here , Thou record sweet of Love and Spring , Ere life's May - flowers , like thee , grew sere , Or Hope had waved her parting wing : When Boyhood's burning ...
Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth Century Lyre. Cold is her hand who placed thee here , Thou record sweet of Love and Spring , Ere life's May - flowers , like thee , grew sere , Or Hope had waved her parting wing : When Boyhood's burning ...
Страница 21
... cold reality I see . My gloomy bosom's joyless cell No ray of thine illumines more , Which once could guide my spirit well O'er every ill to soar . By all the intense love of thee That fires my soul and thrills my frame ! By tears thou ...
... cold reality I see . My gloomy bosom's joyless cell No ray of thine illumines more , Which once could guide my spirit well O'er every ill to soar . By all the intense love of thee That fires my soul and thrills my frame ! By tears thou ...
Страница 32
... cold and loveless as she seem'd ; Because to fools she never would reveal Wounds they would probe - without the power to heal . No , -whatsoe'er the visions that disturb The fountain of her thoughts , she knows to curb Each outward sign ...
... cold and loveless as she seem'd ; Because to fools she never would reveal Wounds they would probe - without the power to heal . No , -whatsoe'er the visions that disturb The fountain of her thoughts , she knows to curb Each outward sign ...
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ALARIC beauty beneath billows bird bless'd blue bosom bower breast breath bright bright eyes brow calm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep dream e'en earth EAST INDIAMAN EOLIAN faded fair fame feeling flowers forget gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave green grief hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour land life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute LYRE moon morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale pass'd rest rose round Sappho seem'd shade shine shore SICILIAN VESPERS sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought turn'd Twas Valentine's day voice waking eye wave weep wild winds wings young youth
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Страница 197 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Страница 59 - And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre.
Страница 197 - The wind'flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade and glen.
Страница 284 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Страница 57 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Страница 23 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Страница 61 - Bartholomew," was passed from man to man, But out spake gentle Henry "No Frenchman is my foe. Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go...
Страница 86 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Страница 167 - O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder...
Страница 58 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.