Thomas Moore, the Poet: His Life and Works

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Blackie & Son, 1880 - 255 oldal
 

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34. oldal - Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
134. oldal - Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale, She all night long her amorous descant sung...
66. oldal - twas a sight, — that heaven, that child, A scene, which might have well beguiled Even haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how felt he, the wretched man Reclining there, while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, — Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
102. oldal - I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed...
103. oldal - And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
152. oldal - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps. And lovers around her are sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
138. oldal - Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee !" The minstrel fell ! but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ! The harp he...
145. oldal - The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled.
155. oldal - Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
153. oldal - Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night; — Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light 196 Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first wak'da new life through his frame.

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