Records of woman, songs of the affections, and songs and lyrics: Elegantly illustrated

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E.H. Butler, 1853 - 292 pages
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Page 248 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Page 101 - Thou hast left sorrow in thy song, A voice not loud, but deep ! The glorious bowers of earth among, How often didst thou weep ! Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground Thy tender thoughts and high ? — Now peace the woman's heart hath found, And joy the poet's eye.
Page 43 - And bid me not depart," she cried ; " My Rudolph ! say not so ! This is no time to quit thy side — Peace ! peace ! I cannot go. Hath the world aught for me to fear, When death is on thy brow ? The world ! what means it ? Mine is here — I will not leave thee now.
Page 163 - And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face — the king before the dead ! — " Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?— Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this!
Page 175 - tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air ; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, Leads down the hills a vein of light, — 'tis there!
Page 161 - Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransom'd man this day; Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. And lo ! from far, as on they...
Page 161 - A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead!
Page 63 - And bought alone by gifts beyond all price, The trusting heart's repose, the paradise Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow The crown of glory unto woman's brow.
Page 55 - Thou shalt have fame ! Oh, mockery ! give the reed From storms a shelter, — give the drooping vine Something round which its tendrils may entwine, — Give the parch'd flower a rain-drop, and the meed Of love's kind words to woman ! Worthless fame ! That in his bosom wins not for my name Th...
Page 127 - Lest the strong heart should fail : King Pedro, with a jealous eye, Watching the homage done, By the land's flower and chivalry, To her, his martyr'd one.

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