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Страница 83 - Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill.
Страница 93 - The blackening wave is edged with white : To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. " Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : Why cross the gloomy firth to-day...
Страница 82 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, $ Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Страница 72 - True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.
Страница 99 - That day of wrath, .that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day...
Страница 83 - ... band, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's...
Страница 118 - 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. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry.
Страница 45 - SWEET TEVIOT ! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.