Alnwick Castle: With Other Poems

Harper & Brothers, 1845 - 104 頁

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第 16 頁 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.
第 21 頁 - She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb : But she remembers thee as one Long loved and for a season gone. For thee her poets' lyre is wreathed. Her marble wrought, her music breathed : For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes...
第 40 頁 - GREEN be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts, whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth...
第 18 頁 - An hour passed on — the Turk awoke — That bright dream was his last; He woke to hear his sentries shriek, " To arms! they come! the Greek ! the Greek...
第 18 頁 - They fought — like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun.
第 92 頁 - They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty; A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none.
第 22 頁 - Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys — And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's—- One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die.
第 22 頁 - Her soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded...
第 28 頁 - O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm, O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, O'er Reason's dark, cold hours ; On fields where brave men
第 35 頁 - I then but dreamed: thou art before me now, In life, a vision of the brain no more. I've stood upon the wooded mountain's brow, That beetles high thy lovely valley o'er; And now, where winds thy river's greenest shore, Within a bower of sycamores am laid; And winds, as soft and sweet as ever bore The fragrance of wild flowers through sun and shade, Are singing in the trees, whose low boughs press my head.