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The Poetical Works of Rogers, Campbell, J. Montgomery, Lamb, and Kirke White ...
Недоступно для просмотра - 2015
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Стр. 149 - OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime : As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; And the boldest...
Стр. 150 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC...
Стр. 150 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry...
Стр. 261 - For Him shall prayer unceasing And daily vows ascend, His kingdom still increasing, A kingdom without end: The mountain-dews shall nourish ' A seed in weakness sown, Whose fruit shall spread and flourish And shake like Lebanon.
Стр. 339 - The pains of death are past; Labor and sorrow cease ; And, life's long warfare closed at last, His soul is found in peace. Soldier of Christ, well done ! Praise be thy new employ ; And, while eternal ages run, Rest in thy Saviour's joy.
Стр. 116 - Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
Стр. 151 - I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! — oh! my daughter!
Стр. 150 - Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger, — A home and a country remain not to me. Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived , shall I spend the sweet hours, Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh ! Erin, my country!
Стр. 153 - As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.