The Poetical MelangeG. A. Douglas, 1828 |
Des de l'interior del llibre
Resultats 6 - 10 de 67.
Pàgina 61
... shore , And then retiring , left it there to rot And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven : So he cut from the sympathies of life , And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge- A wandering , weary , worn , and wretched thing ...
... shore , And then retiring , left it there to rot And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven : So he cut from the sympathies of life , And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge- A wandering , weary , worn , and wretched thing ...
Pàgina 65
... in peace . This is not a scene of pleasure , These are not the shores of bliss : We shall gain a brighter treasure , Find a dearer land than this . Anon . THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON . The tempest is hushed , THE POETICAL MELANGE . 65.
... in peace . This is not a scene of pleasure , These are not the shores of bliss : We shall gain a brighter treasure , Find a dearer land than this . Anon . THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON . The tempest is hushed , THE POETICAL MELANGE . 65.
Pàgina 66
... shore . But where is the tomb that should mark the repose , Of that bright flaming comet on history's pages ? Or the shrine which the bay and the laurel crown strews , Where the song echoes loudly - the wonder of ages ? Beneath the deep ...
... shore . But where is the tomb that should mark the repose , Of that bright flaming comet on history's pages ? Or the shrine which the bay and the laurel crown strews , Where the song echoes loudly - the wonder of ages ? Beneath the deep ...
Pàgina 84
... shore . Still as the harp o'er Babel's streams , For ever hangs his tuneful lyre , And he , with all his glowing dreams , Quenched like a meteor's fire ! So sleeps the great , the young , the brave 84 THE POETICAL MELANGE . 166.
... shore . Still as the harp o'er Babel's streams , For ever hangs his tuneful lyre , And he , with all his glowing dreams , Quenched like a meteor's fire ! So sleeps the great , the young , the brave 84 THE POETICAL MELANGE . 166.
Pàgina 85
... His spirit walk her silent shore . Then even the winds that wake in sighs , Shall still seem whispering of his name ; And lonely rocks and mountains rise His monuments of fame ! But where is he ? -ye dead - ye dead THE POETICAL MELANGE .
... His spirit walk her silent shore . Then even the winds that wake in sighs , Shall still seem whispering of his name ; And lonely rocks and mountains rise His monuments of fame ! But where is he ? -ye dead - ye dead THE POETICAL MELANGE .
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Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot
The Poetical Melange. [Compiled by G. A. Douglas.], Volum 2 George A. Douglas Visualització completa - 1828 |
Frases i termes més freqüents
Anon beam beauty beneath blessed blest bliss bloom bosom bower breast breath bright brow Byron calm charm cheek child clouds cold Cumnor dark dead dear death deep doom dream dust earth eternal fade fair Farewell father fear feel fled flowers frae gazed glory glowing gone grave grief harp hast hath heart heaven Helvellyn hope hour John Malcolm Kilmeny land life's light lisp live lonely look LORD BYRON Mariamne MINSTREL BOY morning mortal mother mountain mourn ne'er never night o'er peace perished band praise prayer rapture rest rose round Samian wine scene seraph shade shed shining book shore sigh silent skies sleep slumber smile song sorrow soul spirit star sweet tears tempest thee thine thou art thought tomb trembling Twas twill vile bands voice wave ween weep wept wild winds wing youth
Passatges populars
Pàgina 131 - ALL thoughts,' all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve...
Pàgina 24 - Tis now become a history little known, That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Pàgina 85 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Pàgina 222 - Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought, Yea, with my Life and Life's own secret joy: Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven.
Pàgina 85 - I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.
Pàgina 37 - Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
Pàgina 166 - Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings.
Pàgina 37 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Pàgina 62 - If aught should tempt my soul to stray From heavenly wisdom's narrow way ; To fly the good I would pursue, Or do the sin I would not do ; Still He, who felt temptation's power, Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
Pàgina 22 - THAT those lips had language ! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same, that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, " Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away...