The Work of Mrs. Hemans, 6. kötet

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Lea and Blanchard, 1842
 

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122. oldal - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished; They live no longer in the faith of reason.
141. oldal - Not there, not there, my child ! " " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair — Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, — "It is there, it is there, my child !
62. oldal - Into these glassy eyes put light — be still ! keep down thine ire, Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire ! Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed,— Thou canst not ? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head...
187. oldal - Come to the sunset tree ! The day is past and gone ; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
61. oldal - Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead : —
112. oldal - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
52. oldal - Whispered my native streams ; " Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove. Still revered its first high dreams?
193. oldal - And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter : therefore the name of it was called Marah.
140. oldal - I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band ; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs...
83. oldal - Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence : Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...

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