The league of the Alps, The siege of Valencia, The vespers of Palermo, and other poems

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Hilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins, 1826
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Page 79 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Page 27 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Page 132 - Say, father! say If yet my task is done ? " He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. " Speak, father ! " once again he cried, " If I may yet be gone," And " — but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 25 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; 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 58 - His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ? That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it dropped from his like lead!
Page 133 - With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part — But the noblest thing which perished there Was that young faithful heart...
Page 132 - And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.
Page 80 - Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest — Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.
Page 103 - And the raised eye of childhood shine in love. Or where the shadows of dark solemn yews Brood silently o'er some lone burial-ground, Thy verse hath power that brightly might diffuse A breath, a kindling, as of spring, around, From its own glow of hope and courage high, And steadfast faith's victorious constancy. True bard and holy ! — thou art e'en as one Who, by some secret gift of soul or eye, In every spot beneath the smiling sun, Sees where the springs of living waters lie — . Unseen awhile...
Page 140 - As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with, such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles...

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