The Works of Professor Wilson of the University of Edinburgh: Poetical works

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W. Blackwood, 1858

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Page 407 - A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun ; A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : Long had I watched the glory moving on, O'er the still radiance of the lake below ; Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, E'en in its very motion there was rest ; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Page 16 - Now is the ocean's bosom bare, Unbroken as the floating air ; The ship hath melted quite away, Like a struggling dream at break of day. No image meets my wandering eye, But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky.
Page 124 - This frame of dust, this feeble breath, The Plague may soon destroy ; We think on Thee, and feel in death A deep and awful joy. Dim is the light of vanished years In the glory yet to come ; O idle grief ! O foolish tears ! When Jesus calls us home. Like children for some bauble fair That weep themselves to rest ; We part with life — awake ! and there The jewel in our breast ! SCENE III.
Page 228 - Wafting up his own mountains that far-beaming head ; Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale ? — Hail ! King of the wild and the beautiful ! — hail ! Hail ! Idol divine ! — whom Nature hath borne O'er a hundred hill-tops since the mists of the morn, Whom the pilgrim lone wandering on mountain and moor, As the vision glides by...
Page 226 - But when a stranger meets thy view, Glistens thine eye with wilder hue. A moment's thought who I may be, Blends with thy smiles of courtesy. Fair was that face as break of dawn, When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn Like a thin veil that half-concealed The light of soul, and half-revealed.
Page 228 - O'er the black silent forest piled lofty and lone — A throne which the eagle is glad to resign Unto footsteps so fleet and so fearless as thine. There the bright heather springs up in love of thy breast...
Page 401 - To whom belongs this valley fair, That sleeps beneath the filmy air, Even like a living thing ? Silent, — as infant at the breast, — Save a still sound that speaks of rest, That streamlet's murmuring ! The heavens appear to love this vale ; Here clouds with scarce-seen motion sail, Or 'mid the silence lie. By that blue arch, this beauteous earth Mid evening's hour of dewy mirth Seems bound unto the sky.
Page 31 - Oft as sea-breezes blow. The sun and clouds alone possess The joy of all that loveliness ; And sweetly to each other smile The live-long day — sun, cloud, and isle.

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