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Cambridge, 1847 - 355 páginas
 

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Página 281 - Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod ; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God.
Página 265 - She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined : and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own.
Página 266 - And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight!
Página 1 - Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Página 261 - In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!
Página 239 - And it came to pass, when Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Laban his mother's brother...
Página 238 - And he looked, and behold a well in the field, and, lo, there were three flocks of sheep lying by it; for out of that well they watered the flocks: and a great stone was upon the well's mouth.
Página 265 - And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the armed man, The statue of the armed Knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve.
Página 285 - Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield ! Hark to nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of Heaven. Every bush and tufted tree Warbles sweet philosophy ; ' Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow : God provideth for the morrow. ' Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose : Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we poor citizens of air ? Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, God provideth for the morrow.
Página 293 - tis revolution all ; All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and night The dying day ; stars rise, and set, and rise ; Earth takes th

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