The Pleasures of Hope, with Other Poems

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, ... and Doig and Stirling, Edinburgh, 1817 - English poetry - 136 pages
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Page 30 - Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own ! Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot Tell— the Bruce of Bannockburn...
Page 28 - Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe...
Page 52 - The world was sad! — the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled!
Page 70 - Oh ! lives there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this barren world sufficient bliss...
Page 26 - Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — "O Heaven !" he cried, "my bleeding country save !-•Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Page 20 - Chide not his peace, proud Reason; nor destroy The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. Hark!
Page 73 - This frail and feverish being of an hour ; Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, To know Delight but by her parting smile, And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb...
Page 24 - Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime; L Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
Page 8 - When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for 'the toil ; As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, And hears thy stormy music in the drum ! And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore.
Page 27 - Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save : Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live ! — with her to die...

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