The Improvisatrice: And Other Poems

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Hurst, Robinson, 1824 - Počet stran: 327
 

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Strana 128 - ... sign Of guilt or fear was there, He stood as proud by that death-shrine As even o'er Despair He had a power; in his eye There was a quenchless energy, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that Death could take, And dare it for the daring's sake. He stood, the fetters on his hand...
Strana 137 - The death-wound came amid sword and plume, When banner and ball were flying. Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast, By wet wild flowers surrounded ; The church shadow falls o'er his place of rest, Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
Strana 131 - ... it is like the leaves of spring ; If faithless, like those leaves when withering. Take back again your emerald gem, There is no colour in the stone; It might have graced a diadem, But now its hue and light are gone ! Take...
Strana 137 - He came again, — but an alter 'd man : The path of the grave was before him, And the smile that he wore was cold and wan, For the shadow of death hung o'er him. He spoke of victory, — spoke of cheer : — These are words that are vainly spoken To the childless mother or orphan's ear, Or the widow whose heart is broken. A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone, Half hidden by yonder willow : There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won, SONG OF THE HUNTER'S BRIDE.
Strana 77 - MANDALLA'S love, while scornful eye And chilling jeers mock her agony : An Alma girl ! oh shame, deep shame, To Brahma's race and Brahma's name ! Unmarked, unpitied, she turned aside, For a moment her bursting tears to hide. None thought of the Bayadere, till the fire Blazed redly and fiercely the funeral pyre ; Then like a thought she darted by, And sprang on the burning pile to die ! " Now thou art mine ! away, away " To my own bright star, to my home of day...
Strana 15 - And he is bartering his heart For that in which it hath no part. There's many an ill that clings to love; But this is one all else above;— For love to bow before the name Of this world's treasure : shame ! oh, shame ! Love, be thy wings as light as those That waft the zephyr from the rose, — This may be pardoned — something rare In loveliness has been thy snare!
Strana 41 - The torrent rain was sweeping round ; — These won me entrance. He was young. The castle's lord, but pale like age ; His brow, as sculpture beautiful, Was wan as Grief's corroded page. He had no words, he had no smiles, No hopes :^his sole employ to brood Silently over his sick heart In sorrow and in solitude.

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