The Cheltenham anthology, original poems and translations, ed. by W.H. Halpin

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Page 166 - And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon: Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done. Now cease, my lute : this is the last Labour that thou and I shall waste, And ended is that we begun. Now is this song both sung and past: My lute be still, for I have done.
Page 166 - Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done. Now cease, my lute, this is the last 'Labour, that thou and I shall waste ; And ended is that we begun : Now is this song both sung and past ; My lute, be still, for I have done.
Page 136 - Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! ADA ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope.
Page 2 - Or safe, and sheltcr'd in my quiet home, Or when o'er mountains drear and wild I roam ; Or when my liberated feet may gain Their native realm, yon fair and blooming plain ; In life, in death, in rapture, or in woe, For thee, blest Lord, the note of praise shall flow. Allur'd by tranquil night's congenial calm, For thee I frame the sweet poetic charm. When orient roses wreathe the purple morn; When noontide splendors all the heav'n adorn ; When placid ev'ning spreads her gentle wing; I wake for thec...
Page 82 - In every flower that blooms around, Some pleasing emblem we may trace ; Young love is in the myrtle found, And memory in the pansy's grace. Peace in the olive-branch we see, Hope in the half-shut iris glows, In the bright laurel victory ! And lovely woman in the rose.
Page 13 - If it were better on the battle-plain To die a freeman, than to live a slave? If life, howe'er protracted, be a span? If good men stand invincible ? If Fortune Against the righteous wing her shaft In vain? If holy motives be alone required, And virtue, spurned or cherished, still be virtue?
Page 7 - Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.
Page 2 - Each dark, unruly passion charm to rest, And fan the flame that purifies the breast. A wreath the King of Gods may deign to wear, I humbly weave: to his pure shrine I bear A sacrifice unstain'd by crimson dews, A free libation of the Heavenly Muse.
Page 14 - He told us all that we're concern'd to know. Would he have chosen this deserted shore That some lone stragglers might inquire his will? Or buried sacred truth in barren sand ? What is his temple, but the earth, the sea, The air, and Heaven, and Virtue? Why beyond Explore the heavenly sanctities? whate'er We see, where'er we sojourn, there is Jove. Let wavering bosoms, fluctuating minds, For soothsayers pant: — I heed no Oracle.
Page 3 - ... thee I frame the sweet poetic charm. When orient roses wreath the purple morn ; When noontide splendors all the heavens adorn ; When placid evening spreads her gentle wing ; I wake for THEE the full resounding string. Yon stars, that glow with everlasting youth, The moon, who walks in light, attest my truth ; And mighty Sol, who leads the radiant choir, And fills the sainted breast with hallow'd fire ! HELIODORA.

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