Records of Woman, with Other PoemsGilley, 1828 - Всего страниц: 324 |
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Стр. 12
... head , Loathing the laughter and proud pomp of light , When darkness , from the vainly - doting sight , Covers its beautiful ! If thou wert gone To the grave's bosom , with thy radiant brow , - If thy deep - thrilling voice , with that ...
... head , Loathing the laughter and proud pomp of light , When darkness , from the vainly - doting sight , Covers its beautiful ! If thou wert gone To the grave's bosom , with thy radiant brow , - If thy deep - thrilling voice , with that ...
Стр. 23
... head , Years of bright fame , when I am with the dead ! I bid this prayer survive me , and retain Its might , again to bless thee , and again ! Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate Too much ; too long , for my sake , desolate Hath ...
... head , Years of bright fame , when I am with the dead ! I bid this prayer survive me , and retain Its might , again to bless thee , and again ! Thou hast been gather'd into my dark fate Too much ; too long , for my sake , desolate Hath ...
Стр. 27
... head at last— The choking swell of her heart was past ; And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way In the sudden flow of a plaintive lay.3 THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL . Why do I weep ? -to THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE . 27.
... head at last— The choking swell of her heart was past ; And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way In the sudden flow of a plaintive lay.3 THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL . Why do I weep ? -to THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE . 27.
Стр. 32
... head ! The wine - cups foam'd , and the rose was shower'd On the young and fair from the world embower'd , The sun look'd not on them in that sweet shade , The winds amid scented boughs were laid ; But there came by fits , thro ' some ...
... head ! The wine - cups foam'd , and the rose was shower'd On the young and fair from the world embower'd , The sun look'd not on them in that sweet shade , The winds amid scented boughs were laid ; But there came by fits , thro ' some ...
Стр. 37
... head be , Her blood was the Greek's , and hath made her free . Proudly she stands , like an Indian bride On the pyre with the holy dead beside ; But a shriek from her mother hath caught her ear , As the flames to her marriage - robe ...
... head be , Her blood was the Greek's , and hath made her free . Proudly she stands , like an Indian bride On the pyre with the holy dead beside ; But a shriek from her mother hath caught her ear , As the flames to her marriage - robe ...
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ARABELLA STUART art thou beautiful beneath bird bosom bow'd breast breath breeze bright bright land brightly brow cheek child Childe Harold dark dead death deep dream dust dwell earth Eudora Ev'n fair fear floating flowers forest fount gaze gentle glad glance gleam gloom glow gone grave green grief hair hath haunted heart heaven holy hour human voice hush'd JOANNA BAILLIE leaves light lip's lips lone look'd lov'd lyre MADAME DE STAEL mantle midst mother mournful murmur night o'er pale pass'd pour'd prayer press'd proud RHEIMS rose round Seem'd shade shadow silent silvery sleep smile soft solemn song soul sound spirit stood stream strong sunny sweet sword tears tender thee thine things thou art Thou hast thou wert Thou'rt thought thro tomb tone Twas unto voice wandering wave weep whisper wild wind woman's woods young youth
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Стр. 265 - 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. 269 - Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre.
Стр. 263 - 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. 266 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Стр. 264 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth.
Стр. 171 - THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Стр. 242 - Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell ! Here are sweet sounds, which thou lovest well ; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune ; And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard.
Стр. 202 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
Стр. 288 - BERNARD BARTON. BY the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd, By the household tree through which thine eye First look'd in love to the summer sky, By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious — oh ! guard it well...
Стр. 302 - One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade. The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.