The Works of Mrs. Hemans, with a Memoir by Her Sister, and an Essay on Her Genius by Mrs. Sigourney ...

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Lea and Blanchard, 1840

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Seite 33 - HAIL to thee, blithe spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.
Seite 229 - And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.
Seite 46 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Seite 190 - By Him Who bowed to take The death-cup for our sake, The thorn, the rod ! From Whom the last dismay Was not to pass away ; Aid us, O GOD ! 4 Tremblers beside the grave We call on Thee to save, FATHER divine ! Hear, hear our suppliant breath, Keep us in life and death Thine, only Thine.
Seite 268 - With light Elysian ; — for the hues that steep Your shores in melting lustre, seem to float On golden clouds from spirit-lands remote, Isles of the blest ; — and in our memory keep Their place with holiest harmonies.
Seite 33 - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?
Seite 143 - It passed not, though to Him the grave Had yielded up its dead ! But there was sent Him from on high A gift of strength for man to...
Seite 279 - tis Death itself there dies. EPITAPH. STOP, Christian Passer-by — Stop, child of God, And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he — O lift one thought in prayer for STC ; That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death ! Mercy for praise — to be forgiven for fame He ask'd, and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the same ! AN ODE TO THE RAIN.
Seite 153 - And midst the forms, in pale proud slumber carved Of Warriors on their tombs. — The People kneel Where mail-clad Chiefs have knelt ; where jewelled crowns On the flushed brows of Conquerors have been set; Where the high Anthems of old Victories Have made the dust give echoes.— Hence, vain thoughts! Memories of Power and Pride, which, long ago, Like dim Processions of a dream, have sunk In twilight depths away.
Seite 219 - Clasp me a little longer on the brink Of fate, while I can feel thy dear caress; And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh, think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than human friendship just. Oh I by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs — when I am laid in dust...

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