The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell: Including Poland &c

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Charles Wells, 1841 - 309 pages
 

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Page 165 - 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.
Page 175 - 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.
Page 124 - There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it : I have killed many : I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Page 41 - The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled...
Page 166 - Linden, when the sun was low, all bloodless lay th' untrodden snow; and dark as winter was the flow of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, when the drum beat at dead of night commanding fires of death to light the darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed each horseman drew his battle-blade, and furious every charger neigh'd to join the dreadful revelry.
Page 31 - Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career;— HOPE, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell ! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there ; Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — On Prague's proud arch...
Page 160 - Lochiel, beware of the day ! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.
Page 40 - IN joyous youth, what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own ? Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh ? Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name...
Page 49 - The strife is o'er — the pangs of nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze, On heavenly winds, that waft her...
Page 50 - From planet whirled to planet more remote, He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun...

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