The pleasures of hope

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S. Low and son, 1855 - Всего страниц: 58

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Стр. 45 - by the blaze, On heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still Watch'd on the holy tow'rs of Zion hill!
Стр. 22 - blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; — The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay !— Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth shook—red meteors flash'd along the sky, And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry ! Oh ! righteous Heav'n ! ere Freedom found a
Стр. 20 - Oppression pour'd to Northern wars Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars, Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ; Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man ! 9 Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,— Oh!
Стр. 52 - it once shall never die! That spark unburied in its mortal frame, With living light, eternal, and the same, Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, Unveil'd by darkness—unassuag'd by tears ! " Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep ; But when I gain the home without a friend,
Стр. 47 - reft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?— There live, alas ! of Heav'n-directed mien. Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay,
Стр. 24 - hand ; It roll'd not back when Canute gave command! Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow? Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow? Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd ? Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world ? What! are thy triumphs, Sacred Truth, belied ? Why then hath Plato liv'd—or Sidney
Стр. 47 - Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower, A friendless slave, a child without a sire, Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, Light to the grave his chance-created form, As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm; And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, To Night and Silence sink for evermore
Стр. 40 - to save, And toil'd—and shriek'd—and perish'd on the wave ! Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, The seaman's cry was heard along the deep; There on his funeral waters, dark and wild, The dying father blest his darling child ! Oh ! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, Spent on the pray'r his bursting heart, and died!
Стр. 5 - by the winds, and cradled on the rock, To wake each joyless morn, and search again The famish'd haunts of solitary men, Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, Knows not a trace of Nature but the form ; Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued,
Стр. 45 - moon-ey'd herald of dismay, Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day ! The strife is o'er—the pangs of Nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of Heav'n undazzled by the blaze, On heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; Wild as

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