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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 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 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 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 27 頁 - There have been loftier themes than his, And longer scrolls, and louder lyres, And lays lit up with Poesy's Purer and holier fires : Yet read the names that know not death ; Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; And few have won a greener wreath Than that which binds his hair. His is that language of the heart In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek ; And his that music, to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time,...
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 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 poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; For thee she rings the birthday bells...
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...
第 28 頁 - What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, What wild vows falter on the tongue, When " Scots wha hae wi
第 31 頁 - Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, Where'er, beneath the sky of heaven, The birds of fame have flown. Praise to the man ! a nation stood Beside his coffin with wet eyes, Her brave, her beautiful, her good, As when a loved one dies. And still, as on his funeral day, Men stand his cold earth-couch around, With the mute homage that we pay To consecrated ground. And consecrated ground it is, The last, the hallowed home of one Who lives upon all memories, Though with the buried gone.