The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell: With a Prefatory Notice, Biographical and Critical

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Walter Scott, 1885 - English poetry - 282 pages

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Page 107 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Page 109 - Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, 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.
Page 169 - I'll forgive your Highland chief: My daughter! — O my daughter!
Page 91 - Ye Mariners of England That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze ! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe, And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.
Page 98 - THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. OUR bugles sang truce ; for the nightcloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered — The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
Page 119 - Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save: So peace instead of death let us bring: But yield, proud foe, thy fleet With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our King.
Page 64 - Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! — Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep those 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...
Page 108 - The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
Page 97 - Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more ! Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase me?
Page 188 - TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art — Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that Optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ? When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws...

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