Comentarios de la gente - Escribir un comentario
No encontramos ningún comentario en los lugares habituales.
arms cheer child close cloud course dark dead dear death deep E'en earth face fair faith fear feel fell field fire flower gave give grace grave green hall hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven heen hefore heneath hill hold holy hope horn hour hreast hreath hright human king lady land leave less light living lonely look Lord loud Marmion meet mind morning mountain nature never night o'er once pass peace poor pride rest rise rock rose round seen shade side sight smile song soon soul sound spirit steps stood stream strong sweet tale tears tell thee things thou thought Till tower tree turn voice wanderer wave wild wind wood youth
Página 219 - I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied : — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.
Página 146 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet...
Página 335 - But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Página 147 - Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, The.. light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream; I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this ! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.
Página 455 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the 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.
Página 340 - twas like all instruments. Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Página 219 - But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Página 341 - The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast : Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third — I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good ! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.
Página 287 - The bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges ; Come with your fighting gear, Broad-swords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume, Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set ! Pibroch...
Página 487 - Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.