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appear arms atque beneath blood breast breath bright brow COUNTRY course danger death deep distant divine dread earth eyes face fair fame fate fears feel fields fierce fire flame flood flow flowers force gave give glittering glow golden grace hand head hear heard heart heaven height Hinc honour hour kind king leave light living mind morn mother Muse night notes o'er o’er once pain paint pleasing pleasure pride PROPHETESS proud pursue Quod race raise reign repose rerum rise roar round scene secret seen shade side sight skies slow smiles soft song soul sound spirit spring steep steps stream sweet tear tell thee thou thought train trembling unknown vale voice warm waves Weave weep whence winds wings youth
57 ページ - The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind...
51 ページ - How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Awaits alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
29 ページ - Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies! Is the sable warrior fled ? Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? Gone to salute the rising morn.
27 ページ - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
28 ページ - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep : they do not sleep ! On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
16 ページ - Alas ! regardless of their doom The little victims play ; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day : Yet see how all around...
24 ページ - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
26 ページ - Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array: Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance; 'To arms!