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Page 69 - But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.
Page 215 - The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round : The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Through life to dwell delighted here ; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! LVI. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound ; Beneath...
Page 71 - And in each pillar there is a ring, And in each ring there is a chain ; That iron is a cankering thing, For in these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away...
Page 176 - Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be, ' Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly," quoth he, ' Ten thousand rats are coming this way — The Lord forgive you for yesterday! ' ' I'll go to my tower on the Rhine,' replied he, "Tis the safest place in Germany; The walls are high, and the shores are steep, And the stream is strong, and the water deep.
Page 175 - The summer and autumn had been so wet, That in winter the corn was growing yet ; 'Twas a piteous sight to see all around The grain lie rotting on the ground. Every day the starving poor Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door, For he had a plentiful last year's store, And all the neighbourhood could tell His granaries were furnish'd well.
Page 42 - Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, They crowned him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.
Page 221 - Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delighted The stranger fain would linger on his way ! Thine is a scene alike where souls united Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey On...
Page 177 - He listened and looked; . . it was only the Cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that, For she sat screaming, mad with fear At the Army of Rats that were drawing near.
Page 73 - And for the like had little care. The milk drawn from the mountain goat Was changed for water from the moat, Our bread was such as captives' tears Have moisten'd many a thousand years.
Page 70 - To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God.