Poems of William Haines Lytle (Google eBook)

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Robert Clarke Company, 1894 - 149 pages
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Page 49 - Alas, but Morison fell young! He never fell, thou fall'st, my tongue. He stood, a soldier to the last right end, A perfect patriot and a noble friend, But most, a virtuous son. All offices were done By him so ample, full, and round, In weight, in measure, number, sound, As, though his age imperfect might appear, His life was of humanity the sphere.
Page 62 - And for thee, star-eyed Egyptian Glorious sorceress of the Nile ! Light the path to Stygian horrors With the splendors of thy smile ; Give the Caesar crowns and arches, Let his brow the laurel twine, I can scorn the senate's triumphs, Triumphing in love like thine.
Page 11 - The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On fame's eternal camping ground Their silent tents are spread, And glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead.
Page 61 - Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarred and veteran legions Bear their eagles high no more, And my wrecked and scattered galleys Strew dark Actium's fatal shore ; Though no glittering guards surround me, Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still.
Page 62 - Strew dark Actium's fatal shore ; Though no glittering guards surround me. Prompt to do their master's will, I must perish like a Roman, Die the great Triumvir still. Let not Caesar's servile minions Mock the lion thus laid low...
Page 61 - Queen, enfold me, Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear, Listen to the great heart-secrets Thou, and thou alone, must hear. Though my scarred and veteran legions Bear their eagles high no more, And my wrecked and scattered galleys Strew dark Actium's fatal shore; Though no glittering guards surround...
Page 49 - Hee stood, a Souldier to the last right end, A perfect Patriot, and a noble friend, But most, a vertuous Sonne. All Offices were done By him, so ample, full, and round, In weight, in measure, number, sound, As though his age imperfect might appeare, His life was of Humanitie the Spheare.
Page 93 - Clustered around my couch of pain, and trying To light the dark way, trod without a guide? Shall it be mine, beyond the tossing billow, 'Neath foreign skies, to feel the approach of death, Will stranger hands smooth down my dying pillow, And. watch with kindly heart my failing breath? Or shall, perchance, the little stars be shining On some lone spot, where, far from home and friends, The way-worn pilgrim on the turf reclining, His life and much of grief together ends?
Page 63 - I am dying, Egypt, dying ! Hark ! the insulting foeman's cry ! They are coming ! Quick ! my falchion ! Let me front them ere I die. Ah ! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell ! Tsis and Osiris guard thee ; Cleopatra, Rome, farewell ! 4 WILLIAM H. LYTLE. QUEEN MAB. OH, then, I see Queen Mab hath 'been with you. She is the fairies...
Page 62 - His who, pillowed on thy bosom, Turned aside from glory's ray His who, drunk with thy caresses, Madly threw a world away. Should the base plebeian rabble Dare assail my name at Rome, Where the noble spouse, Octavia, Weeps within her widowed home...

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