Gems of the Modern Poets: With Biographical Notices

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Carey and Hart, 1842 - English poetry - 408 pages
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Page 284 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow ; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 64 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
Page 184 - O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! JAMES HOGG.
Page 16 - THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Page 21 - We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May ! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind...
Page 69 - Thy brother Death came, and cried, "Would'st thou me?" Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, "Shall I nestle near thy side? Would'st thou me?"— And I replied, "No, not thee.
Page 172 - Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest...
Page 287 - Then shook the hills with thunder riven; Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flash'd 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. 490 '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.
Page 47 - And often when I go to plough The ploughshare turns them out. For many thousand men/ said he, 'Were slain in that great victory.' 'Now tell us what 'twas all about...
Page 23 - Thus Nature spake — The work was done — How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be.

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