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art thou banner beautiful beneath bosom breast breath breeze bright bright land brow cheek close and true Conradin dark dead death deep doth dream dwell e'en earth Eudora fair farewell father fear flowers gathering film gaze gentle glad glance gleam glorious glow gone Gorsedd grave green grief hath heart heaven hour hush'd Joanna Baillie leaves light lips lone look look'd lyre midst Montalba mother mournful night noble o'er pale pass'd pour'd Procida proud Provencal Raim Raimond reckless play rest rose round scene seem'd shadow shining shining band Sicilians Sicily silent sleep slumber smile soft song soul sound speak spirit stood stream strong sunny sweet sword tears thebroken thee thine things thou art Thou hast thought tomb tone Twas unto voice warrior wave weep wert whisper wild winds woman's woods young youth
Page 281 - And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 246 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
Page 281 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth.
Page 282 - And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever: it may be a sound — A tone of music— summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Page 229 - What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light ! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old. The blessed homes of England ! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours ! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn ; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born.
Page 132 - I come, I come ! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.
Page 259 - Yet speak to me ! I have outwatch'd the stars, And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee. Speak to me ! I have wander'd o'er the earth And never found thy likeness — Speak to me ! Look on the fiends around — they feel for me : I fear them not, and feel for thee alone — Speak to me ! though it be...
Page 300 - O joyous birds, it hath still been so ; Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go ! But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep, And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep : Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot, Since last ye parted from that sweet spot ? — "A change we have found there — and many a change!
Page 167 - The wind rose high — but with it rose Her voice, that he might hear : — Perchance that dark hour brought repose To happy bosoms near; While she sat striving with despair Beside his tortured form, And pouring her deep soul in prayer Forth on the rushing storm. She wiped the death-damps from his brow With her pale hands and soft, Whose touch upon the lute-chords low Had stilled his heart so oft.