Friendship's Gift: A Souvenir for 1848

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Walter Percival
John P. Hill, 1848 - 312 Seiten
 

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Seite 282 - That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind...
Seite 260 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the armed man.
Seite 261 - The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long. She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved, — she stepped aside, As conscious of my look she stept, — Then suddenly, with timorous eye She fled to me and wept.
Seite 283 - I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I can not die. For after the rain, when with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air...
Seite 282 - The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack...
Seite 262 - twas a bashful art, That I might rather feel, than see, The swelling of her heart.
Seite 186 - This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! This can unlock the gates of Joy; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.
Seite 239 - Ines" had always, for me, an inexpressible charm: O saw ye not fair Ines! She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest...
Seite 281 - I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.
Seite 240 - ... been a beauteous dream, If it had been no more ! Alas, alas, fair Ines, She went away with song ; With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng. But some were sad and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long. Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, Nor danced so light before, — Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore ! The smile that blest one lover's heart...

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