The Poetical Works of Campbell and Falconer: With a Memoir of Each, Volumes 1-2

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1880
 

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Page 98 - The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave ! — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow...
Page 99 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 115 - I'll forgive your Highland chief. My daughter ! Oh ! my daughter...
Page 99 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow, — When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
Page 113 - DAUGHTER A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound, To row us o'er the ferry.
Page 102 - Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom:— Then ceased— and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or in conflagration pale, Light the gloom.
Page 94 - Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Page 235 - But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind, — And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high? — To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die.
Page 129 - Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow.
Page 95 - Lo !. the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...

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