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Page 114 - Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
Page 72 - Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Page 62 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 52 - He makes the figs our mouths to meet And throws the melons at our feet; But apples, plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by His hand From Lebanon He stores the land; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
Page 312 - From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand ; Where Afric's sunny fountains .Roll down their golden sand ; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain.
Page 270 - We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 142 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell...
Page 270 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
Page 280 - The star that bids the shepherd fold, Now the top of heaven doth hold ; And the gilded car of day His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream, And the slope sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing toward the other goal Of his chamber in the east. Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
Page 18 - DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitiet} and alone.