The Works of Thomas Moore: Epistles, odes, and other poems1823 |
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Página 16
... maids . † Dear STRANGFORD ! at this hour , perhaps , Some faithful lover ( not so blest * Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores , from which the island derives its name . It is said by some to be as high as the Peak of ...
... maids . † Dear STRANGFORD ! at this hour , perhaps , Some faithful lover ( not so blest * Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores , from which the island derives its name . It is said by some to be as high as the Peak of ...
Página 42
... maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done . Is the hour of dalliance over ? Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover To the desert's still retreat ? Fare you well ! with sighs we banish Nymph so fair and ...
... maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done . Is the hour of dalliance over ? Must the maiden's trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover To the desert's still retreat ? Fare you well ! with sighs we banish Nymph so fair and ...
Página 46
... maid in a cypress tree , " When the footstep of Death is near ! " * The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from Norfolk , and the Lake in the middle of it ( about seven miles long ) is called Drummond's Pond . Away to the ...
... maid in a cypress tree , " When the footstep of Death is near ! " * The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from Norfolk , and the Lake in the middle of it ( about seven miles long ) is called Drummond's Pond . Away to the ...
Página 47
... over its surface play'd— " Welcome , " he said , " my dear - one's light ! " And the dim shore echoed , for many a night , The name of the death - cold maid ! Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark , AND OTHER POEMS . 479.
... over its surface play'd— " Welcome , " he said , " my dear - one's light ! " And the dim shore echoed , for many a night , The name of the death - cold maid ! Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark , AND OTHER POEMS . 479.
Página 48
... camp , This lover and maid so true Are seen , at the hour of midnight damp , To cross the lake by a fire - fly lamp , And paddle their white canoe ! EPISTLE III . TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF D- VOL 48 EPISTLES , ODES , ETC.
... camp , This lover and maid so true Are seen , at the hour of midnight damp , To cross the lake by a fire - fly lamp , And paddle their white canoe ! EPISTLE III . TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF D- VOL 48 EPISTLES , ODES , ETC.
Termos e frases comuns
Achilles Tatius ancient ARISTIPPUS ARISTOTLE bard beam beauty beneath Bermuda blessed blest bliss bloom blush bosom bower breast breath breeze bright brow burning charm cheek CICERO clime dear Dismal Swamp Dithyrambic divine dream earth Epicurean Epicurus fair fancy feel fire flame flowers glow grace hath heart Heaven heavenly heptachord hour hung isle JOSEPH ATKINSON kiss Lady lamp languid Leontium light look look'd lover lyre magic maid Mamurra mingle morning murmurs ne'er never night nymph o'er PAULUS SILENTIARIUS PAUSANIAS philosophers Pindar Plato play'd PLUTARCH pure Pythagoras rapture repose round roves says seem'd shade shed shine sigh sigh'd sleep smile soft song soul spirit spring steal Stoics stole sweet sweetly tear tell thee thine thou thought trace Twas twine warm wave weep wing δε και μεν τε ΤΟ
Passagens mais conhecidas
Página 266 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.2 Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
Página 47 - Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds — His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before ! And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear, and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew ! And near him the she-wolf...
Página 187 - Oh Nature ! though blessed and bright are thy rays, O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own ! Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain...
Página 183 - How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less than all thou hast forborne to be!
Página 138 - And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue, — To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, However much I've rav'd about it ; And sweetly as that lip can kiss, I think I could exist without it.
Página 272 - I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous world, See all its store of inland waters hurl'd In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed...
Página 266 - ... upon one of those beautiful lakes, into which the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which the finest compositions of the first masters have never given me ; and now there is not a note of it which does not recall to my memory the dip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during the whole of this very interesting voyage.
Página 246 - I KNEW, by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here...
Página 152 - Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, And latest folly of man's sinking age, Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, While nobler passions wage their heated strife, Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear, And dies, collecting lumber in the rear...
Página 267 - The rapids arc near and the daylight's past. Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl, But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past. Utawas