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Page 262 - There with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter : There with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea...
Page 263 - Give back the lost and lovely ! — those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long ! The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song ! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown — But all is not thine own.
Page 261 - There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but nature more...
Page 159 - Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell ! They have tales of the joyous woods to tell — Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky, And the bright world shut from his languid eye ; They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, And the dream of his youth.
Page 36 - Save, Lord, or we perish." St. Matt. viii. 25. through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, Nor hope lends a ray the poor seaman to cherish, We fly to our Maker :
Page 266 - I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown...
Page 266 - The breath of the moist earth is light, Around its unexpanded buds ; Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.
Page 84 - Bound upon the accursed tree, Faint and bleeding, who is He ? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming- blood, and writhing limb, By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side so deeply pierced, By the baffled burning thirst, By the drooping death-dewed brow, Son of Man ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou.
Page 108 - Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him twopence.
Page 159 - Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead ! For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst, For this in the woods was the violet nursed ! Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift; — bring ye flowers, pale flowers.