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Seite 562 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Seite 384 - After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Seite 562 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Seite 561 - I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown...
Seite 556 - I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.
Seite 562 - Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround — Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; — To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Seite 14 - The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument...
Seite 81 - Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit! rest thee now ! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! Soul, to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.