The league of the Alps, The siege of Valencia, The vespers of Palermo, and other poemsHilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins, 1826 |
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... Dream of Land The Grave of Körner .. The Graves of a Household The Last Wish 36 41 44 46 48 50 52 54 56 62 65 68 72 76 78 A Monarch's Death - Bed . 81 • The Hour of Death . 83 The Release of Tasso 86 Tasso and his Sister To the Poet ...
... Dream of Land The Grave of Körner .. The Graves of a Household The Last Wish 36 41 44 46 48 50 52 54 56 62 65 68 72 76 78 A Monarch's Death - Bed . 81 • The Hour of Death . 83 The Release of Tasso 86 Tasso and his Sister To the Poet ...
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... air , O'er cliffs , the very birth - place of the day- Oh ! who would dream that Tyranny could dare To lay her withering hand on God's bright works e'en there ? IV . Yet thus it was - amidst the fleet 6 LEAGUE OF THE ALPS .
... air , O'er cliffs , the very birth - place of the day- Oh ! who would dream that Tyranny could dare To lay her withering hand on God's bright works e'en there ? IV . Yet thus it was - amidst the fleet 6 LEAGUE OF THE ALPS .
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... dreams Of youth with sorrow . - Yet from memory's lore Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams , For he had walk'd with God , beside the mountain streams . XV . And his grey hairs , in happier times , might well To their last ...
... dreams Of youth with sorrow . - Yet from memory's lore Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams , For he had walk'd with God , beside the mountain streams . XV . And his grey hairs , in happier times , might well To their last ...
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... dreams with joy ? Thou shalt sleep soft , my boy ! " I give thee to thy God - the God that gave thee , A wellspring of deep gladness to my heart ! And precious as thou art , And pure as dew of Hermon , He shall have thee , My own , my ...
... dreams with joy ? Thou shalt sleep soft , my boy ! " I give thee to thy God - the God that gave thee , A wellspring of deep gladness to my heart ! And precious as thou art , And pure as dew of Hermon , He shall have thee , My own , my ...
Стр. 32
... dreams to rise , ' Midst the echoes of long - lost melodies , And to fling bright dew from the morning back , Fair form ! on each image of childhood's track . Thou art a thing to recall the hours , When the love of our souls was on ...
... dreams to rise , ' Midst the echoes of long - lost melodies , And to fling bright dew from the morning back , Fair form ! on each image of childhood's track . Thou art a thing to recall the hours , When the love of our souls was on ...
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ABDULLAH ALPHONSO ANSELMO arms art thou aught banner bear beneath BERNARDO DEL CARPIO blood brave breast breath breeze bright brow burst call'd Castile CITIZEN clouds Conradin CONSTANCE Couci dark dead death deep doth dreams e'en earth ELMINA ERIBERT Ev'n Exeunt Exit fair father fearful flowers gaze glorious glory gone GONZALEZ GUIDO hast thou hath hear heard heart Heaven HERNANDEZ hope hour joyous know'st land light lone look look'd midst MONTALBA Moorish ne'er night noble o'er pale pass'd pour'd PROCIDA proud Provençal RAIMOND rest Roncesvalles round SCENE scorn seem'd shalt shouldst shrink SICILIANS Sicily silent sleep slumber smile song soul sound Spain speak spirit strong sweet sword tell thee thine things thou art thou hast Thou wouldst thought trumpets Twas unto Valencia VITTORIA voice wave wild wilt winds wouldst thou XIMENA youth ΧΙΜΕΝΑ
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Стр. 26 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came: Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear — They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!
Стр. 128 - The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud though childlike form. The flames rolled on. He would not go Without his father's word ; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He call'd aloud : — " Say, father ! say If yet my task is done ! " He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. " Speak, father !" once again he cried,
Стр. 27 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Стр. 25 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Стр. 129 - The boy — oh ! where was he ? — Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea ! With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, '-,.< That well had borne their part — But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young faithful heart.
Стр. 83 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Стр. 145 - Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs Of Hope make melody where'er ye tread, And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness — how soon her...
Стр. 61 - Into these glassy eyes put light — be still! keep down thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire — Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed! Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy head!
Стр. 59 - Father!" at length he murmured low — and wept like childhood then— Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! — He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown — He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,
Стр. 41 - HOW could Fancy crown with thee In ancient days the God of Wine, And bid thee at the banquet be Companion of the vine? Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound Of revelry hath long been o'er, Where song's full notes once peal'd around, But now are heard no more.