The Select Poetical Works |
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Page 27
... hand . " The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turned at once to ghastly hue ; The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonizing dew . Thrice did he raise the goblet high , And thrice his lips refused to taste ; For thrice he caught ...
... hand . " The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turned at once to ghastly hue ; The drops of death each other chase Adown in agonizing dew . Thrice did he raise the goblet high , And thrice his lips refused to taste ; For thrice he caught ...
Page 29
... hand , Exulting demons winged his dart ; While Envy waved her burning brand , And poured her venom round his heart . Swift is the shaft of Allan's bow : Whose streaming life - blood stains his side ? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low ...
... hand , Exulting demons winged his dart ; While Envy waved her burning brand , And poured her venom round his heart . Swift is the shaft of Allan's bow : Whose streaming life - blood stains his side ? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low ...
Page 30
... hand , His harp in shuddering chords would break . No lyre of fame , no hallowed verse , Shall sound his glories high in air : A dying father's bitter curse , A brother's death - groan echoes there . TO THE DUKE OF DORSET . DORSET ...
... hand , His harp in shuddering chords would break . No lyre of fame , no hallowed verse , Shall sound his glories high in air : A dying father's bitter curse , A brother's death - groan echoes there . TO THE DUKE OF DORSET . DORSET ...
Page 35
... hand of his minstrel by death . Paul and Hubert , too , sleep in the valley of Cressy ; For the safety of Edward and England they fell : My fathers ! the tears of your country redress ye ; How you fought , how you died , still her ...
... hand of his minstrel by death . Paul and Hubert , too , sleep in the valley of Cressy ; For the safety of Edward and England they fell : My fathers ! the tears of your country redress ye ; How you fought , how you died , still her ...
Page 83
... struck the softer lyre of love , By Death's unequal hand controlled , Fit comrades in Elysian regions move ! TRANSLATION FROM HORACE . ODE 3 , LIB . 3 Imitated from Catullus, Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus,
... struck the softer lyre of love , By Death's unequal hand controlled , Fit comrades in Elysian regions move ! TRANSLATION FROM HORACE . ODE 3 , LIB . 3 Imitated from Catullus, Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus,
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Common terms and phrases
art thou bard beam beauty behold beneath bless blest blood bosom breast breath brow Calmar canst CATULLUS charms cheek chief cold dare dark dead dear death deep dread dream dwell e'en earth expire fair fairy bowers falchion fame fate fear feel flow fond forget friendship gaze glory glow grave Greece grief hate hath heart heaven hope hour immortal kiss Latian live Lochlin Lord Byron lyre Mathon mind mingle Morven mourn muse NAPOLEON BONAPARTE ne'er never NEWFOUNDLAND DOG NEWSTEAD ABBEY night numbers o'er once Orla Oscar pangs perchance praise pride Probus remembrance rise roll Samian wine scene seek shade shine shore sigh sleep slumber smile soar soft song soothe sorrow soul spirit strain sweet tears thee thine thou art thou hast thou wert thought throng trembling truth voice wandering wave weep wild wings youth
Popular passages
Page 318 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Page 214 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Page 319 - Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ?— Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae...
Page 192 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel „ While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Page 320 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock and Parga's shore Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown The Heracleidan blood might own.
Page 265 - Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land— Good Night!
Page 332 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Page 240 - Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes They had not their own lustre, but the look Which is not of the earth; she was become The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms impalpable and unperceived Of others
Page 320 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells: In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad.
Page 214 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail...