Heroines of the Poets

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D. Lothrop, 1886 - 182 páginas

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Página 88 - Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve.
Página 136 - Tell me, my daughters (Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state), Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge.
Página 121 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Página 150 - O, reason not the need ! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beast's.
Página 84 - But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: — The chains lie silent on the footworn stones ; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. XLII And they are gone : ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm.
Página 75 - He had a fever late, and in the fit 'He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: 'Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit 'More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me! flit! 'Flit like a ghost away.
Página 75 - And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, — I've mickle time to grieve.
Página 128 - Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; Come and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth.
Página 65 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace Our parting was fu...
Página 90 - Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long!

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