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appear arms band battle beauty beneath bleeding blood bosom bound breath bright burst charms chief child cried dark dead dear death deep delight dread dream dust earth fair fall fate father's fields fire flowers Gertrude green grief hand hath head heard heart Heav'n hills Hope hour Indian Irish isles kind knew land leave life's light living lonely look lov'd meet midnight mind morn mountain Nature never night Note o'er once pale path peace poor proud rock rose round sacred scene seen shade shore sigh sight sire smile song soon soul sound spirit star storm sweet sword tears tell thee thou thought Travels tree trembling true truth Twas voice waters wave weep wild winds woods youth
Стр. 149 - I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter ! — oh my daughter...
Стр. 17 - Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save : Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live ! — with her to die...
Стр. 115 - Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.
Стр. 148 - I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew loud apace; The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men — Their trampling sounded nearer. "Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.
Стр. 140 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow!
Стр. 145 - By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine-cup shines in light: And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!
Стр. 146 - Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave ; While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing glory to the souls Of the brave.
Стр. 148 - ... shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. " O haste thee, haste! " the lady cries, ' ' Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.