Life and Letters of Thomas Campbell, Том 1

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William Beattie
Hall, Virtue & Company, 1850

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Стр. 337 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Стр. 254 - AT summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Стр. 263 - 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 Heaven undazzled by the blaze, On heavenly winds that waft her...
Стр. 32 - Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore ; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore. Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, Had scathed my existence's bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And...
Стр. 390 - Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.
Стр. 224 - O gin my love were yon red rose That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel' a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! Oh, there beyond expression blest. I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus
Стр. 4 - Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, By the dial-stone aged and green, One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, To mark where a garden had been.
Стр. 159 - O ! sacred to the fall of day Queen of propitious stars, appear, And early rise, and long delay When Caroline herself is here ! Shine on her chosen green resort Whose trees the sunward summit crown, And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down...
Стр. 365 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Стр. 262 - The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day — Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! Oh ! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die ! Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun!

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