Poetical remains of the late mrs Hemans [with a memoir by D.M. Moir].

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160. oldal - Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho Nil interest an pauper et infima De gente sub divo moreris, Victima nil miserantis Orci. Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium Versatur urna serius ocius Sors exitura et nos in aeternum Exilium impositura cumbae.
321. oldal - With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread With them those pathways — to the feverish bed Of sickness bound ; yet, O my God ! I bless Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath fill'd My chasten'd heart, and all its throbbings still'd To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness ! April 26(A, 1835.
162. oldal - Frustra: nam gelidos inficiet tibi Rubro sanguine rivos Lascivi suboles gregis. Te flagrantis atrox hora Caniculae Nescit tangere, tu frigus amabile 10 Fessis vomere tauris Praebes et pecori vago. Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium, Me dicente cavis impositam ilicem Saxis, unde loquaces 15 ODE XIV.
47. oldal - Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like, sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark Illumine; what is low, raise and support...
156. oldal - PERSICOS odi, puer, apparatus; displicent nexae philyra coronae ; mitte sectari, rosa quo locorum sera moretur.
15. oldal - Go, call thy sons; instruct them what a debt They owe their ancestors; and make them swear To pay it, by transmitting down entire Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.
94. oldal - Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute: No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell.
94. oldal - WHEN the lamp is shatter'd, The light in the dust lies dead — When the cloud is scatter'd, The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remember'd not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute — , No' song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, Or the mournful surges That ring...
225. oldal - I IN these flowery meads would be : These crystal streams should solace me; To whose harmonious bubbling noise I with my angle would rejoice. Sit here, and see the turtle-dove Court his chaste mate to acts of love; Or on that bank, feel the west wind Breathe health and plenty; please my mind. To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers. And then...
128. oldal - How often is our path Crossed by some being whose bright spirit sheds A passing gladness o'er it, but whose course Leads down another current, never more To blend with ours ! Yet far within our souls, Amidst the rushing of the busy world, Dwells many a secret thought, which lingers yet Around that image.

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