Harold the Exile

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J. Gillet, printer, 1819

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Seite 24 - The moon shines bright : — In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise...
Seite 70 - I should have found in some part of my soul A drop of patience : but (alas !) to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at, — Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : But there, where I have garnered up my heart ; Where either I must live, or bear no life...
Seite 115 - To th; instruments divine respondence meet ; The silver sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall ; The waters fall with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call ; The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.
Seite 70 - The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads To knot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion there, Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin, — Ay, there, look grim as hell ! Des.
Seite 89 - Grongar Hill invites my song, Draw the landscape bright and strong. Grongar ! in whose mossy cells, Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ; Grongar ! in whose silent shade, For the modest Muses made, So oft I have, the evening still, At the fountain of a rill, Sat upon a flowery bed, With my hand beneath my head, While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood, Over mead and over wood, From house to house, from hill to hill, Till contemplation had her fill.
Seite 274 - When by my native streams, in life's fair prime, The mournful magic of their mingling chime First waked my wondering childhood into tears! But seeming now, when all those days are o'er, The sounds of joy once heard and heard no more.
Seite 52 - I have a silent sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart ; It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes my heart.
Seite 293 - In life itself she was so still and fair, That death with gentler aspect withered there ; And the cold flowers her colder hand contained, In that last grasp, as tenderly were strained As if she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep, And made it almost mockery yet to weep. The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow, And veiled — thought shrinks from all that lurked below.
Seite 83 - Whom none has comforted ! where are thy friends, The dear companions of thy joyful days, Whose hearts thy warm prosperity made glad, Whose arms were taught to grow like ivy round thee, And bind thee to their bosoms ? Thus, with thee, Thus let us live, and let us die, they said.

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