Ballads

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Tinsley Bros., 1865 - 125 pages
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Page 124 - L'orage a brisé le chêne Qui seul était mon soutien ; De son inconstante haleine Le zéphyr ou l'aquilon Depuis ce jour me promène De la forêt à la plaine, De la montagne au vallon . Je vais où le vent me mène; Sans me plaindre ou m'effrayer ; Je vais où va toute chose, Où va la feuille de rose, Et la feuille de laurier.
Page 15 - And the eyes that beamed so brightly, Come no more ! By the firelight's fitful gleaming I am dreaming, ever dreaming, And the rain is slowly falling all around ; And voices that are nearest, Of friends the best and dearest, Appear to have a strange and distant sound. Now the weary wind is sighing, And the murky day is dying, And the...
Page 124 - IMITAZIONE Lungi dal proprio ramo, Povera foglia frale, Dove vai tu? — Dal faggio Là dov'io nacqui, mi divise il vento. Esso, tornando, a volo Dal bosco alla campagna, Dalla valle mi porta alla montagna. Seco perpetuamente Vo pellegrina, e tutto l'altro ignoro. Vo dove ogni altra cosa, Dove naturalmente Va la foglia di rosa, E la foglia d'alloro.
Page 123 - DE ta tige détachée, Pauvre feuille desséchée, Où vas-tu ?" — " Je n'en sais rien ; L'orage a frappé le chêne Qui seul était mon soutien.
Page 11 - A WILD, wet night ! The driving sleet Blurs all the lamps along the quay ; The windows shake ; the busy street Is yet alive with hurrying feet ; The wind raves from the sea ! So let it rave ! My lamp burns bright ; My long day's work is almost done ; I curtain out each sound and sight — Of all nights in the year, to-night I choose to be alone. Alone, with doors and windows fast, Before my open desk I stand .... Alas ! can twelve long months be past, My hidden, hidden wealth, since last I held thee...
Page 12 - I choose to be alone. Alone, with doors and windows fast, Before my open desk I stand, Alas ! can twelve long months be past, My hidden, hidden wealth ! since last I held thee in my hand. So there it lies ! from year to year I see the ribbon change ; the page Turn yellower ; and the very tear That blots the writing, disappear, And fade away with age. Mine eyes grow dim when they behold The precious trifles hoarded there — A ring of battered Indian gold, A withered blue bell, and a fold Of sunny...
Page 14 - I mourn, the weary moments passing by, And the heavy evening gloom Gathers slowly in the room, And the chill November darkness dims the sky. Now the countless busy feet Cross each other in the street, And I watch the faces flitting past my door ; But the step that lingered nightly, And the hand that rapp'd so lightly, And the...
Page 110 - Parted from thy native bough, Whither, whither goest thou, Leaflet frail? From the oak tree where I grew In the vale ; From the woods all wet with dew Lo ! the wind hath torn me ! Over hill and plain he flew, And hither he hath borne me.
Page 20 - As the river flow'd then, the river flows still, In ripple, and foam, and spray, On by the church, and round by the hill, And under the sluice of the old burnt mill, And out to the fading day. But I love it no more, for delight grows cold When the song is sung, and the tale is told, And the heart is...
Page 12 - ... hurrying feet ; The wind raves from the sea ! So let it rave ! My lamp burns bright ; My long day's work is almost done ; I curtain out each sound and sight — Of all nights in the year, to-night I choose to be alone. Alone, with doors and windows fast, Before my open desk I stand .... Alas ! can twelve long months be past, My hidden, hidden wealth, since last I held thee in my hand ? So, there it lies ! From year to year I see the ribbon change ; the page Turn yellower ; and the very tear That...

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