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adieu Aholibamah Anah aught bard beauty behold beneath better blest blood bosom Bourb breast Cæs Calmar Capel Lofft Catullus dare dead dear death devil dream Dunciad earth Edinburgh Review edition fame fate father fear feel forget Fritz glory hast hath hear heart heaven hero honour hope Hours of Idleness Iden IDENSTEIN Irad JACK HINTON Japh Lady leave live look Lord Byron lyre Morgante muse ne'er never night noble note by Lord nought numbers o'er once Orlando poem poet poor praise private volume quæ rhyme Saint Peter satire scarce scene seem'd Sieg Siegendorf sigh sire sleep smile song soul Southey spirit Stral Stralenheim Stran tears thee thine things THOMAS MOORE thou thought Ulric verse wave weep WERNER wing young youth
Strona 311 - I strode through the pine-cover'd glade ; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. " Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night -rolling breath of the gale ? " Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
Strona 546 - Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Themselves in orisons ! thou material God ! And representative of the Unknown — Who chose thee for his shadow...
Strona 361 - ... shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose ; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of
Strona 192 - Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest ; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides ; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand...
Strona 185 - We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head; And we will sit in twilight's face, and see The sweet moon glancing through the tooa tree, The lofty accents of whose sighing bough Shall sadly please us as we lean below ; Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray. How beautiful are these ! how happy they, Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal...
Strona 481 - SAINT Peter sat by the celestial gate, His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, So little trouble had been given of late ; Not that the place by any means was full, But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight," The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, And "a pull altogether," as they say At sea— which drew most souls another way.
Strona 502 - He had written praises of a regicide; He had written praises of all kings whatever; He had written for republics far and wide, And then against them bitterer than ever; For pantisocracy he once had cried Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever; Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin — Had turn'd his coat — and would have turn'd his skin.
Strona 486 - But bringing up the rear of this bright host A Spirit of a different aspect waved His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved ; His brow was like the deep when tempest-tossed ; Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved Eternal wrath on his immortal face, And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space.