The Lyre: Fugitive Poetry of the Xixth CenturyJ. Sharpe, 1830 - 360 sider |
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Side xiii
... Death of Ismael Fitzadam . By Miss Lan- don • • I think of thee . By T. K. Hervey Excuse for not fulfilling an Engagement . By Mrs. Sigourney Page 1 3 5 10 13 14 16 18 20 22 23 25 28 31 33 35 38 40 · 43 45 xiv CONTENTS . Forget thee ...
... Death of Ismael Fitzadam . By Miss Lan- don • • I think of thee . By T. K. Hervey Excuse for not fulfilling an Engagement . By Mrs. Sigourney Page 1 3 5 10 13 14 16 18 20 22 23 25 28 31 33 35 38 40 · 43 45 xiv CONTENTS . Forget thee ...
Side xviii
... Death of the Poet Shelley • 264 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns , at the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner 266 The Nightingale Flower 267 A last Remembrance . By W. Kennedy 269 To May . By Lord Thurlow The dead Infant . A Sketch . 271 272 The ...
... Death of the Poet Shelley • 264 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns , at the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner 266 The Nightingale Flower 267 A last Remembrance . By W. Kennedy 269 To May . By Lord Thurlow The dead Infant . A Sketch . 271 272 The ...
Side 5
... death ; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; Or , art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both ...
... death ; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent ; Or , art thou , what thy form would seem , The phantom of a blessed dream ? A human shape I feel thou art , I feel it at my beating heart , Those tremors both ...
Side 8
... death ; When all around is peace , Calmly to yield the weary breath From sin and suffering cease ; Think of Heaven's bliss , and give the sign , To parting friends : -such death be mine ! THE VOICE OF MIDNIGHT . WHEN night sits on the.
... death ; When all around is peace , Calmly to yield the weary breath From sin and suffering cease ; Think of Heaven's bliss , and give the sign , To parting friends : -such death be mine ! THE VOICE OF MIDNIGHT . WHEN night sits on the.
Side 13
... now , And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise , All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow , Sin , sorrow , suffering , banish'd from her eyes , 14 WEEP NOT FOR HER . Victorious over death to 1332 Weep not for her By D M Moir.
... now , And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise , All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow , Sin , sorrow , suffering , banish'd from her eyes , 14 WEEP NOT FOR HER . Victorious over death to 1332 Weep not for her By D M Moir.
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ALARIC beauty beneath billows bird bless'd blue bosom bower breast breath bright bright eyes brow calm cheek cloud cold dark dead death deep dream e'en earth EAST INDIAMAN EOLIAN faded fair fame feeling flowers forget gaze gentle gleam glory glow gone grave green grief hath hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre hope hour land life's light lips lonely look look'd LORD BYRON lute LYRE moon morning mountain murmur N. P. WILLIS ne'er NELL GWYN never night o'er pale pass'd rest rose round Sappho seem'd shade shine shore SICILIAN VESPERS sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought turn'd Twas Valentine's day voice waking eye wave weep wild winds wings young youth
Populære passager
Side 197 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Side 59 - And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre.
Side 197 - The wind'flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade and glen.
Side 284 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Side 57 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Side 23 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Side 61 - Bartholomew," was passed from man to man, But out spake gentle Henry "No Frenchman is my foe. Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go...
Side 86 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Side 167 - O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder...
Side 58 - Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.