Poems

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T. Cadell, and W. Davies, 1811 - English poetry - 240 pages
 

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Page 79 - Oh ! where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race ; So true, so brave, — a lamb at home, A lion in the chase...
Page 85 - Best of thy kind, adieu ! The frantic deed which laid thee low, This heart shall ever rue.
Page 81 - Llewellyn homeward hied, When near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood. The hound all o'er was...
Page 103 - When the black-lettered list to the gods was presented — The list of what fate for each mortal intends — At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented, And slipped in three blessings, wife, children, and friends.
Page 83 - He called his child, — no voice replied, — He searched with terror wild; Blood, blood, he found on every side, But nowhere found his child. "Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured," The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side.
Page 79 - In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John ; but now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on. And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise, all Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries.
Page 81 - Llewelyn homeward hied ; When, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But, when he gain'd his castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore His lips, his fangs ran blood.
Page 187 - E merry all, be merry all, With holly dress the festive hall, Prepare the song, the feast, the ball, To welcome merry Christmas.
Page 105 - Arabia's fragrance ascends, The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover The bower where he sat with — wife, children, and friends. The dayspring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends; But drear is the twilight of age, if it borrow No warmth from the smile of — wife, children, and friends.
Page 86 - Poor Gelert's dying yell. And till great Snowdon's rocks grow old, And cease the storm to brave, The consecrated spot shall hold! The name of

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