Imilda de' Lambertazzi, and other poems

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Hurst, Chance & Company, 1830 - 199 pages
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Page 113 - THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 'T is not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
Page 59 - No more— no more — Oh ! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new, Hived in our bosoms like the bag o...
Page 128 - Would there have linger'd ; flush'd her cheek to pain If met by sudden glance ; and gave a tone Of sorrow, as for something lovely gone, Even to the spring's glad voice. Her own was low And plaintive ! — Oh ! there lie such depths of woe In a young blighted spirit ! Manhood rears A haughty brow ; and Age has done with tears ; But Youth bows down to mis'ry, in amaze At the dark cloud o'ermantling its fresh days, — And thus it was with her.
Page 126 - Invites the young pursuer near, And leads him on from flower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye: So Beauty lures the full-grown child, With hue as bright, and wing as wild; A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears.
Page 123 - ... eternity, — music like hope, So very sweet, — and poetry, whose songs Are Love's own words, until he dreamed that fame Was a reality that he might win. He dreamed but to awake with withered heart And wasted health, and hopes like fallen stars, Crushed and stained with the earth to which they fell. Oh Genius ! fling aside thy starry crown, Close up thy rainbow wings, and on thy head Heap dust and ashes — for, this cold drear world Is but thy prison-house.
Page 62 - ... rich soil teemed with youth's generous flowers — I felt thee sunshine — now thy rayless light Falls like the cold moon on a blasted heath Mocking its desolation — speak thy vow — I will not chide thee if the words should kill me — Imo. (Sinking into his arms) I cannot utter it — Ber. Have we not loved, as none have ever loved, And must we part as none have ever parted? I know thy lord is near; I know his towers Must shut thee from my sight — the curfewhour Will send me on a far...
Page 79 - ... coverts hide my Muse and me; Or mid the rural shepherds flow my days, Amid the rural shepherds I am free. ' To view sleek vassals crowd a stately hall, Say, should I grow myself a solemn slave ? To find thy tints, O Titian ! grace my wall, Forego the flowery fields my fortune gave ? ' Lord of my time, my devious path I bend Through fringy woodland, or smooth-shaven lawn, Or pensile grove, or airy cliff ascend ; And hail the scene by Nature's pencil drawn.

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