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Seite 66 - Ullin, Fingal's bard, was there ; the sweet voice of the hill of Cona. He praised the daughter of snow, and Morven's" high-descended chief. The daughter of snow overheard, and left the hall of her secret sigh. She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the east. Loveliness was around her as light. Her steps were like the music of songs.
Seite 168 - But's happier than me: for I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never waked but to a joyful morning ; Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom scaped, yet's withered in the ripening.
Seite 50 - Why, why is this ? Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy ; To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions ? No ! to be once in doubt, Is once to be resolved.
Seite 86 - The world's a labyrinth, where unguided men Walk up and down to find their weariness ; No sooner have we measur'd, with much toil, One crooked path, in hope to gain our freedom, But it betrays us to a new affliction.'.
Seite 30 - tis joy which bids them flow DRYDEN. I'll hoard up ev'ry moment of my life, To lengthen out the payment of my tears. DRYDEN. I would cry now, my eyes grow womanish; But yet my heart holds out. DRYDEN. What precious drops are those Which silently each other's track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew '. DRYDEN : Conquest of Granada. His dauntless heart would fain have held From weeping, but his eyes...
Seite 202 - Nuath, said the hero, why dost thou fly from Gaul? Do my eyes send forth the flame of death? Or darkens hatred in my soul? Thou art to me the beam of the east rising in a land unknown. But thou coverest thy face with sadness, daughter of high Dunlathmon! Is the foe of Oithona near? My soul burns to meet him in battle. The sword trembles on the side of Gaul, and longs to glitter in his hand. — Speak, daughter of Nuath, dost thou not behold my tears? CAR-BORNE chief of Strumon...
Seite 32 - Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm, That age or injury has hollow'd deep, Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, He has outslept the winter, ventures forth To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun...
Seite 130 - The weary are at peace : the small and great, life's voyage ended, meet and mingle here. Here sleeps the prisoner safe, nor feels his chain, Nor hears th
Seite 136 - ... her anxiety to hear and relate all that had befallen each since their separation. Accordingly, the mutual communication that apprehension had hitherto delayed now took place ; the baron briefly related all she was solicitous to learn, and she in her turn began as follows.

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