The Zenana: And Minor Poems

Capa
Fisher, Son, & Company, London; Quai de L'Ecole, Paris, 1839 - 335 páginas
 

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Página 289 - DEAR Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Página 137 - All but what thou hast. No, thou art delighting In thy summer home ; Where the flowers inviting Tempt the bee to roam ; Where the cowslip bending, With its golden bells, Of each glad hour's ending With a sweet chime tells. All wild creatures love him When he is alone, Every bird above him Sings its softest tone.
Página 289 - ... still. Dear Harp of my Country ! farewell to thy numbers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine ! Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine ; If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.
Página 207 - ... day. The light that is of heaven shone there the first The elements of art, Mankind's diviner part; There was young science in its cradle nurst. Mighty the legacies by mind bequeathed, For glorious were its pains Amid those giant fanes, And mighty were the triumphs it achieved. A woman's triumph* mid them is imprest One who upon the scroll Flung the creative soul, Disdainful of life's flowers and of its rest. Vast was the labour, vast the enterprise, For she was of a race Born to the lowest place,...
Página 297 - ELLIS.— THE WOMEN OF ENGLAND; Their Social Duties and Domestic Habits. By Mrs. Ellis. One handsome volume, 12nio., cloth gilt.
Página 199 - Ah ! woe to those Who such a heart despise. Poor child ! what lonely days she passed, With nothing to recall But bitter taunts, and careless words, And looks more cold than all. Alas! for love, that sits at home, Forsaken, and yet fond ; The grief that sits beside the hearthLife has no grief beyond.
Página 264 - Of her young brother : alas ! have they missed her, She who was borne a captive from their hearth? She starts — too present grows the actual sorrow, By her own heart she knows what they have borne ; Young as she is, she shudders at to-morrow, It can but find her prisoner and forlorn. What are the glittering trifles that surround her — What the rich shawl — and what the golden chain ? Would she could break the fetters that have bound her, And see her household and her hills again ! THE CEDARS...

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