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arms Bacchus battle beauty behold blessed blood bosom brave breast breath bright brow Brutus Chirsty Clodius cried dark dead death deep deer fly delight despair dread earth Eliza Cook Erin go bragh eyes fair faith father fear feel fire Gelert give glory grave hand happiness hath head hear heard heart heaven helmet of Navarre Henry of Navarre honour hope hour human inflection king labour land light live Lochinvar lonely look look'd Lord Lord Byron Milo mind morning Mount Lebanon mountain nature never night o'er passion peace Pibroch plain poor pride religion rise round Satan scene sleep smile soul sound spear spirit storm sweet sword tears tell tempest thee thing thou hast thought thunder tremble Twas uncle Toby virtue voice waves weep wild wind words young youth
Page 234 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide; To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame...
Page 243 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness...
Page 349 - This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors...
Page 327 - Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell : Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.
Page 233 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : How jocund did they drive their team afield...
Page 171 - 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.
Page 348 - Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
Page 214 - 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 sulphurous canopy.