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Seite 110 - She hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a maiden City, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when she took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are...
Seite 62 - Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world ; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear.
Seite 450 - ... clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; . But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade, By love's simplicity betray'd And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Seite 64 - THAT those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine, — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child; chase all thy fears away!
Seite 107 - Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, is a more permanent and a far more philosophical language than that which is frequently substituted for it by poets...
Seite 450 - O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i
Seite 83 - Where the thin harvest waves its wither'd ears ; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : There Thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war; There Poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil, There the blue Bugloss paints the sterile soil ; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy Mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the Charlock throws a shade, And clasping Tares cling round the sickly blade ; With...
Seite 202 - His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth The vassals of his will? Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim, discrowned king of day; For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Healed not a passion or a pang Entailed on human hearts.
Seite 135 - How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!
Seite 112 - And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks, before the LORD ; but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake ; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.