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appear arms battle beauty beneath blood bosom bound bower brave breath bright brow burst charm chief child cold cried dark dead dear death deep dream earth England face fair fall fame fate father feel fields fire flower gave green grief hand hath head hear heard heart Heaven Hope hour human Indian isles knew land leave light living lonely look memory mind morn mountain native Nature Nature's never night o'er once Page pale peace poor pride rise rocks round sacred scene seen shade shore sigh sight smile song soul sound speak spirit star storm sweet sword tears tell thee thou thought true Twas vision waves weep wild winds wing woods young youth
Seite 68 - By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore...
Seite 80 - Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Seite 65 - Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal ! "Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.
Seite 74 - I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." — The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her.
Seite 67 - Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom:— Then ceased— and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or in conflagration pale, Light the gloom.
Seite 74 - I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 'His horsemen hard behind us ride — Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?
Seite 75 - I'll forgive your Highland chief. My daughter ! Oh ! my daughter...
Seite 66 - It was ten of April morn by the chime, As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath, For a time. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between.
Seite 81 - And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky.