Lalla Rookh: An Oriental Romance ...

Forsideomslag
C. S. Francis & Company, 1845 - 278 sider
 

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Side 120 - Nymph of a fair but erring line ! " Gently he said — " one hope is thine. "Tis written in the Book of Fate, The Peri yet may be forgiven Who brings to this eternal gate The gift that is most dear to heaven ! Go seek it, and redeem thy sin, — 'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in.
Side 67 - 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 132 - 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 120 - 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 247 - Alas ! — how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love ! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied ; That stood the storm, when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea. When heaven was all tranquillity...
Side 241 - Or to see it by moonlight, — when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines ; When the water-falls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet.
Side 159 - 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 122 - 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...
Side 128 - 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 stol'n to die alone. One who in life where'er he mov'd, Drew after him the hearts of many...
Side 136 - 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 the...

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