The Duke of Monmouth

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E. L. Carey & A. Hart, 1837
 

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Стр. 168 - And stand too much on seeming: If arts and schools reply, Give arts and schools the lie.
Стр. 124 - The words are repeated, The bridal is done, The rite is completed — The two, they are one ; The vow, it is spoken All pure from the heart, That must not be broken Till life shall depart. Hark ! 'mid the gay...
Стр. 187 - The night was clear, and morning was still far distant, when, pursuant to a preconcerted plan, the army of Monmouth was drawn out in silence from the town. Lord Grey, at the head of the cavalry, was sent a little before, as the force least liable to suffer from a surprise. Monmouth himself followed with the main body of his army, nearly three thousand of whom were armed, and in some tolerable degree of discipline. The men, who had been well-furnished with the excitement of strong liquor, marched...
Стр. 52 - Now the lusty spring is seen; Golden yellow, gaudy blue, Daintily invite the view: Everywhere on every green Roses blushing as they blow, And enticing men to pull, Lilies whiter than the snow, Woodbines of sweet honey full: All love's emblems, and all cry, "Ladies, if not plucked, we die.
Стр. 122 - Whate'er he did was done with so much ease, In him alone 'twas natural to please : His motions all accompanied with grace ; And paradise was open'd in his face.
Стр. 125 - As wakes the good shepherd, The watchful and bold, When the ounce or the leopard Is seen in the fold, So rises already The chief in his mail, While the new-married lady Looks fainting and pale.
Стр. 126 - Ye saw him at morning How gallant and gay ! In bridal adorning, The star of the day : Now weep for the lover— His triumph is sped, His hope it is over ! The chieftain is dead ! But O for the maiden Who mourns for that chief, With heart overladen And rending with grief!
Стр. 125 - O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!" VIII. Hurrah ! to the battle ! — They form into line, — The shields, how they rattle ! the spears, how they shine ! Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue, — On, burgher and yeoman! to die or to do!
Стр. 127 - ... cold brow. That glance may for ever Unalter'd remain, But the bridegroom will never Return it again. The dead-bells are tolling In sad Malahide, The death-wail is rolling Along the sea-side ; The crowds, heavy-hearted, Withdraw from the green, For the sun has departed That brighten'd the scene...
Стр. 123 - THE joy-bells are ringing In gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing Along the sea-side ; The maids are assembling With garlands of flowers, And the harpstrings are trembling In all the glad bowers. Swell, swell the gay measure ! Roll trumpet and drum ! 'Mid greetings of pleasure In...

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