Life and Letters of Thomas Campbell, Band 1

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William Beattie
Harper & brothers, 1850

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Seite 282 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow, When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Seite 220 - AT summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Seite 322 - They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock...
Seite 288 - Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Seite 226 - Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ; Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! , Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! The strife is o'er — the pangs of nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Seite 288 - By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Seite 48 - Even now what affections the violet awakes; What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, Can the wild water-lily restore ; What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks, And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, In the vetches that tangled their shore. Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, Had scathed my existence's bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age, And...
Seite 226 - What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day — Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die!
Seite 489 - Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Seite 321 - Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlement's height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

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