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arms beam beauty bend beneath bosom breast breath bright charms clouds cold dark dear death deep dread earth EPIGRAM fair fame Fancy fate fear feel fire flow fond gentle give glow grace grave green hand head hear heart Heaven hill hope hour land late leave light lines live look maid mind morning mourn Muse Nature never night o'er once pain pale peace plain pleasure poem poor praise pride rest rise round sacred scene shade shore sigh smile soft song SONNET sons soon sorrow soul sound spirit storm strain stream sweet tear tell tender thee thine thou thought thro toil vain vale verse virtue voice wave wild winds wing youth
Сторінка 232 - 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.
Сторінка 308 - Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Сторінка 306 - HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC ! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again...
Сторінка 231 - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Сторінка 244 - How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains ! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains.
Сторінка 308 - Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? GOD! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, GOD!
Сторінка 307 - O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink...
Сторінка 307 - Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!