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ARABELLA STUART art thou banner beautiful beneath brave breast breath breeze bright brow cheek Conradin Constance Couci dark dead death deep doth dreams dwell e'en earth Eribert fair father fear flowers gaze gentle glad glance gleam gloom glorious glory glow gone Gorsedd grave green grief hath heart heaven hour hush'd Joanna Baillie leaves light lips lone look look'd lyre midst mighty heart Montalba mother mournful night noble o'er pale Palermo pass'd planxty pour'd Procida proud Provencal Raim Raimond rest Rheims rose round scene seem'd shadow shining Sicilians Sicily silent sleep slumber smile soft solemn song soul sound speak spirit stood stream strong sunny sweet sword tears thee thine things thou art Thou hast thoughts tomb tone Twas Twill unto voice warrior wave wert wild winds woman's wouldst young youth
Page 281 - And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 228 - THE stately homes of England ! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam ; And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Page 229 - Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.
Page 132 - I come, I come ! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Page 166 - I have been with thee in thine hour Of glory and of bliss ; Doubt not its memory's living power To strengthen me through this! And thou, mine honoured love and true, Bear on, bear nobly on ! We have the blessed Heaven in view, Whose rest shall soon be won.
Page 167 - The wind rose high — but with it rose Her voice, that he might hear : — Perchance that dark hour brought repose To happy bosoms near; While she sat striving with despair Beside his tortured form, And pouring her deep soul in prayer Forth on the rushing storm. She wiped the death-damps from his brow With her pale hands and soft, Whose touch upon the lute-chords low Had stilled his heart so oft.
Page 133 - From the night-bird's lay, through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.
Page 281 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame. Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear: — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea: And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!
Page 302 - The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one ; He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where southern vines are drest Above the noble slain ; He wrapt his colours round his breast On a blood-red field of Spain.
Page 281 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free ! The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — This was their welcome home.