allah arms battle beauty behold beneath Black Crows blessed blood Bolus bosom brave breast breath bright brow Brutus Cæsar Chirsty Clodius cried dark dead death deep delight dread earth Eliza Cook ERIN GO BRAGH eyes fair faithful father fear feel fire Gelert glory grave Greece hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven Henry of Navarre honour hope hour human king Laird land light live Lochiel Lochinvar lonely look look'd Lord loud Milo mind morning Mount Lebanon nature ne'er never night o'er pale pass'd passion peace pibroch pride round Sally Brown Satan shore sigh sleep smile soul sound spear spirit stood storm stream sweet sword tears tell tempest thee thing thought thunder tremble Twas uncle Toby virtue voice waves weep wild wind words young youth
第236页 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide; To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame...
第245页 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness...
第351页 - This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors...
第329页 - Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell : Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.
第235页 - The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : How jocund did they drive their team afield...
第173页 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
第350页 - Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And, sure, he is an honourable man.
第216页 - Far flashed the red artillery ! But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.