Mercedes of Castile: Or, The Voyage to Cathay

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Lea and Blanchard, 1840 - 538 pages

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Page 206 - O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home ! These are our realms, no limits to their sway — Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Page 259 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.
Page 26 - Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home...
Page 81 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost.
Page 1 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 241 - As this was said, they reached the boat, and were quickly pulled on board the Santa Maria. By this time the peaks of the islands were towering like gloomy shadows in the atmosphere, and, soon after, the caravels resembled dark, shapeless specks, on the unquiet element that washed their hulls.
Page 98 - He that of such a height hath built his mind, And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame Of his resolved powers ; nor all the wind Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong His settled peace, or to disturb the same, What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey...
Page 113 - Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower But 'twas the first to fade away ; I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die.
Page 66 - Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might, the majesty of Loveliness...
Page 51 - What then are all these humane arts, and lights, But seas of errors ? In whose depths who sound, Of truth finde only sbadowes, and no ground.

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