The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore: Lalla Rookh

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Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1853
 

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Side 153 - Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years — One minute of heaven is worth them all...
Side 74 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year...
Side 180 - While the same sunbeam shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one, And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven The triumph of a Soul Forgiven...
Side 74 - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Side 160 - 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 172 - Now, upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Side 165 - said the pitying Spirit, " Dearly ye pay for your primal fall, — Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, But the trail of the Serpent is over them all...
Side 214 - twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die ! Now too — the joy most like divine Of all I ever dreamt or knew, To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — Oh, misery ! must I lose that too ? Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — Those frightful rocks — that treacherous sea — • No, never come again — though sweet, Though heaven, it may be death to thee.
Side 274 - Twas his own voice — she could not err — Throughout the breathing world's extent There was but one such voice for her, So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! Oh ! sooner shall the rose of May Mistake her own sweet nightingale, And to some meaner minstrel's lay Open her bosom's glowing veil, * Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, A breath of the beloved one...
Side 176 - Syria's thousand minarets ! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers where he had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping th...

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