Lalla Rookh: An Oriental Romance

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Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1842 - 396 sider
 

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Side 258 - His country's curse, his children's shame. Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame. May he, at last, with lips of flame On the parch'd desert thirsting die, — While lakes that shone in mockery nigh...
Side 167 - Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, But the trail of the serpent is over them all!
Side 179 - Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay, Watching the rosy infant's play : Though still, whene'er his eye by chance Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches, that have burnt all night Through some impure and godless rite, Encounter morning's glorious rays. But hark ! the vesper-call to prayer, As slow the orb of day-light sets, Is rising sweetly on the air, From Syria's thousand minarets...
Side 163 - Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, " A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, ' 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws " From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause...
Side 168 - Just then beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancy — Beneath that fresh and springing bower, Close by the lake she heard the moan Of one who at this silent hour, Had thither...
Side 164 - And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains Of that Egyptian tide, — whose birth Is hidden from the sons of earth, Deep in those solitary woods, Where oft the Genii of the Floods Dance round the Cradle of their Nile, And hail the New-born Giant's smile!
Side 182 - Man reclining there — while memory ran o'er many a year of guilt and strife, flew o'er the dark flood of his life, nor found one sunny resting-place, nor brought him back one branch of grace !
Side 75 - twas like a sweet dream To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer...
Side 271 - How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity...
Side 160 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...

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