The Camisard, Or, The Protestants of Languedoc: A Tale

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Page 356 - Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace ; Truth, simple truth, was written in his face...
Page 326 - Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o...
Page 266 - Th' enormous amphitheatre behold — Mountainous pile ! o'er whose capacious womb Pours the broad firmament its varied light ; While from the central floor the seats ascend...
Page 136 - But from the stem once plucked, in dust it lies, Nor youth nor maid will then desire or prize. The virgin thus her blushing beauty rears, Loved by her kindred, and her young compeers ; But if her simple charm, her maiden grace...
Page 287 - Chi vuol esser lieto, sia: Di doman non c' certezza. Donne e giovanetti amanti, Viva Bacco e viva Amore ! Ciascun suoni, balli e canti ! Arda di dolcezza il core ! Non fatica, non dolore ! Quel c'ha esser, convien sia. Chi vuol esser lieto, sia: Di doman non c' certezza.
Page 208 - Musical ever ; while from yon blue hills Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts Turn their innumerable arches o'er The spacious desert, brightening in the sun, Proud and more proud in their august approach High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns, Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, And here united pour their silver streams Among the figured rocks, in murmuring falls, Musical ever.
Page 205 - Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Page 88 - The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still The deluge deepens; till the fields around Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. Sudden, the ditches swell ; the meadows swim.
Page 425 - Alpheus' silver flight; If in my verse thou dost delight, My verse, O Rhea's son ! which is Lofty as that, and smooth as this. For the past sufferings of this noble race (Since things once past, and fled out of thine hand, - Hearken no more to thy command) Let present joys fill up their place, And with Oblivion's silent stroke deface Of foregone ills the very trace.
Page 168 - The cluster'd filberds, and the purple grapes : He taught a prating stare to speak my name ; And when he found a nest of nightingales, Or callow linnets, he would...

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