The Autobiography of William Jerdan: With His Literary, Political and Social Reminiscences and Correspondence During the Last Fifty Years, Band 1

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A. Hall, Virtue & Company, 1852 - 444 Seiten

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Seite 114 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...
Seite 114 - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
Seite 214 - ... your feet, the sun gives a farewell parting gleam, and the birds ' Stir the faint note, and but attempt to sing.' " Then again, when the heavens wear a more gloomy aspect, the winds whistle, and the waters spout, I see you in the well-known...
Seite 222 - Nature delights me in every form, I am just now painting her in her most lugubrious dress for my own amusement, describing "Winter as it presents itself.
Seite 17 - Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willow'd shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born. Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Seite 6 - Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Seite 245 - He found the place too warm for him, For they set fire to Moscow. To get there had cost him much ado, And then no better course he knew While the fields were green, and the sky was blue, Morbleu ! Parbleu ! But to march back again from Moscow.
Seite 123 - Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; • And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy : How would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.
Seite 140 - Beyond the reach of Greece ; with native fires ' Mounting aloft, he wings his daring flight, ' Whilst SOPHOCLES below stands trembling at his height. ' Why should we then abroad for judges roam, ' When abler judges we may find at home?
Seite 71 - To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, He's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave,— And this is a true English sailor.

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