The forest sanctuary, and other poems; Records of woman, with other poemsHilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins, 1827 |
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Side 14
... midst warriors I had stood , And in whose helm was brought - oh ! earn'd with blood ! - The fresh wave to my lips , when tropic beams Smote on my fever'd brow ! —Ay , years had pass'd , Severing our paths , brave friend ! —and thus we ...
... midst warriors I had stood , And in whose helm was brought - oh ! earn'd with blood ! - The fresh wave to my lips , when tropic beams Smote on my fever'd brow ! —Ay , years had pass'd , Severing our paths , brave friend ! —and thus we ...
Side 15
... Midst the white Andes - ev'n as mountain deer , Hemm'd in our camp - but through the javelin shower We rent our way , a tempest of despair ! -And thou - hadst thou but died with thy true brethren there ! XXV . I call the fond wish back ...
... Midst the white Andes - ev'n as mountain deer , Hemm'd in our camp - but through the javelin shower We rent our way , a tempest of despair ! -And thou - hadst thou but died with thy true brethren there ! XXV . I call the fond wish back ...
Side 19
... midst the shadowing banners of his hall , With his white hair to sit , and deem the name A hundred chiefs had borne , cast down by you to shame ! 6 XXXIII . And woe for you , ' midst looks and words of love , And gentle hearts and faces ...
... midst the shadowing banners of his hall , With his white hair to sit , and deem the name A hundred chiefs had borne , cast down by you to shame ! 6 XXXIII . And woe for you , ' midst looks and words of love , And gentle hearts and faces ...
Side 22
... Midst thy young spirit's dreams , than that which grows Between the nurtured of the same fond breast , The shelter'd of one roof ; and thus it rose Twined in with life . - How is it , that the hours Of the same sport , the gathering ...
... Midst thy young spirit's dreams , than that which grows Between the nurtured of the same fond breast , The shelter'd of one roof ; and thus it rose Twined in with life . - How is it , that the hours Of the same sport , the gathering ...
Side 26
... midst . A place for prayer , And praise , and offering . Could the earth supply No fruits , no flowers for sacrifice , of all Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall ? No fair young firstling of the flock to die , As when before their God ...
... midst . A place for prayer , And praise , and offering . Could the earth supply No fruits , no flowers for sacrifice , of all Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall ? No fair young firstling of the flock to die , As when before their God ...
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Almindelige termer og sætninger
art thou beautiful beneath blue streams bosom bowers breast breath breeze bright bright land Bright waves brow cheek child dark dead death deep dreams dust dwell earth Eudora Ev'n faded faint fair fair brow farewell fear fled floating flowers forest fount gathering film gaze gentle glance gleam gloom glow grave green grief hair hath heart Heaven holy hour hush'd JOANNA BAILLIE joyous Lake of Lucerne land leave light lips lone look'd lov'd lyre midst mine-a mirth mother mournful night o'er pale pass'd pour'd prayer rest RHEIMS rose round seem'd shade shadow shining shining band shore silent sleep slumber smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit stars stood storm stream strong sunny sweet tears thee thine thou art Thou hast thou wert thought tomb tone Twas unto voice wave weep wild wind woman woods young youth
Populære passager
Side 225 - Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly, With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay...
Side 89 - I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy; for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea.
Side 221 - CHILD, amidst the flowers at play, While the red light fades away ; Mother, with thine earnest eye, Ever following silently ; Father, by the breeze of eve Call'd thy harvest work to leave — Pray : ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Side 222 - Traveller, in the stranger's land Far from thine own household band ; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; Sailor, on the darkening sea — Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Side 95 - And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight, than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air.
Side 227 - Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!" Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth ! Yet through the wastes of the trackless air Ye have a guide, and shall we despair? Ye over desert and deep have pass'd — So may we reach our bright home at last ! THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
Side 226 - And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam? — " We have found a change, we have found a pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt — Nought looks the same, save the nest we built!
Side 227 - midst the blooms of the morn may dwell, I tarry no longer — farewell, farewell ! The summer is coming, on soft winds borne, Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn '. For me, I depart to a brighter shore, Ye are mark'd by care, ye are mine no more. I go where the loved who have left you dwell, And the flowers are not Death's — fare ye well, farewell ! THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.
Side 147 - Banners of battle o'er him hung, And warriors slept beneath, And light, as noon's broad light was flung On the settled face of death. On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare, Though...
Side 218 - The mountain-storms rise high In the snowy Pyrenees, And toss the pine-boughs through the sky, Like rose-leaves on the breeze. But let the storm rage on ! Let the fresh wreaths be shed ! • For the Roncesvalles' field is won, — There slumber England's dead.