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Anselmo ARABELLA STUART art thou banners bear beautiful beneath bow'd brave breast breath breeze bright brow cheek Conradin Constance Couci dark dead death deep doth dreams dwell e'en earth Eribert Ev'n fair farewell father fear flowers gaze gentle glad glance gleam gloom glorious glow gone Gorsedd grave green grief Guido hath heart heaven hour human voice hush'd leaves light lips lone look look'd lyre midst mighty heart Montalba mournful night noble o'er pale Palermo pass'd planxty pour'd Procida proud Provencal racter Raimond rest rose round Scene seem'd shining Sicilians Sicily silent sleep slumber smile soft solemn song soul sound speak spirit stood stream strong sunny sweet sword tears thee thine things thou art Thou hast thought thro tomb tone Twas unto Vittoria voice warrior wave wild winds woman's wouldst young youth
Page 237 - THE stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Page 291 - 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 238 - 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. (237) The blessed Homes of England...
Page 268 - 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 293 - 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 141 - Yet further may relent : for mightier far Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast. But if thou goest, I follow...
Page 254 - 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 156 - Through many a joyous hour, Where the silvery green of the olive shade Hung dim o'er fount and bower. Yes, thou and I, by stream, by shore, In song, in prayer, in sleep, Have been, as we may be no more ; Kind sister, let me weep...
Page 137 - 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 291 - Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.