The bride of Imael ; or, Irish love and Saxon beauty; a poem

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1847 - 80 pages

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Page 17 - Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, — As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought...
Page viii - Yes, love indeed is light from heaven ; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alia given, To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above, But heaven itself descends in love ; A feeling from the(jodhead caught, To wean from self each sordid thought ; A ray of him who form'd the whole ; A glory circling round the soul...
Page 1 - Neath a rock of the desert in dreaming repose, He sees, in his slumbers, such visions of old As his wild Gaelic songs to his infancy told ; O'er the mountains a thousand plumed hunters are borne, And he starts from his dream at the blast of the horn.
Page 91 - ... their cheek, Fresh as the morning's first sun streak ; Each, all conspired to wile away The weariness of royal sway. • But she is gone : there hangs her lute, And there it may hang lone and mute : The flowers may fade, for who is there To triumph now if they are fair : There are her gems, — oh, let them twine An offering round some sainted shrine ! For she who wore them may not wear Again those jewels in her hair.
Page 56 - THE skies are blue ; the moon reclines Above the silent grove of pines, As if devoid of motion ; The ivied abbey frowns forlorn ; And stilly to the ear are borne The murmurs of the ocean. The nightshade springs beside the walk ; Luxuriantly the hemlock stalk Expands its leaves unthwarted, Above the monumental stones, Above the epitaphs, and bones, Of beings long departed. No human dreams disturb the soul, Whose thoughts, like giant-billows, roll 'Mid darksome ages hoary ; When light...
Page 218 - Then was the battle's roar ! Re-echoing shouts from rock to rock Resounding, shook the shore ! With tenfold might each nerve was strung ; Each bosom glow'd with flame! Each chief exulting, forward sprung, And rush'd to...
Page 218 - With ten-fold might each nerve was strung, Each bosom glow'd with flame ; Each Chief, exulting, forward sprung, And rush'd to promts'd fame.

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