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Страница 420 - The Lord giveth, and the Lord ' taketh away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.
Страница 222 - And sees, on high, amidst th' encircling groves, From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine: While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, And echo swells the chorus to the skies. Would Edwin this majestic scene resign For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ? Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.
Страница 187 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Страница 280 - ... starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills. In him the savage virtue of the race, Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead Nor did he change ; but kept in lofty place The wisdom which adversity had bred. Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth ; The shepherd lord was honoured more and more ; And, ages after he was laid in earth, "The good Lord Clifford
Страница 286 - In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw A two-fold image ; on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same ! Most beautiful, On the green turf, with his imperial front Shaggy and bold, and wreathed horns superb. The breathing creature stood ; as beautiful, Beneath him, showed his shadowy counterpart.
Страница 221 - One stormy night, as I remember well, The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof: Red came the river down, and loud and oft The angry spirit of the water shriek'd.
Страница 302 - The fig-tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, But such as, at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms, Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, High overarch'd, and echoing walks between...
Страница 114 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Страница 296 - ... without footsteps among the heather. The pattering of little feet was then heard as if living creatures were arranging themselves in order, and then there was nothing but a more ordered hymn. The harmony was like the melting of musical dewdrops, and sung, without words, of sorrow and death.