Poetical worksBlackwood, 1858 |
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Page 9
... speaking in that dread abode ? An answering voice seems kindly given From the multitude of stars in Heaven : And oft a smile of moonlight fair , To perfect peace hath changed despair . Low as we are , we blend our fate With things so ...
... speaking in that dread abode ? An answering voice seems kindly given From the multitude of stars in Heaven : And oft a smile of moonlight fair , To perfect peace hath changed despair . Low as we are , we blend our fate With things so ...
Page 10
... speaking grace . That smile hath might of magic art , To sway at will the stoniest heart , As a ship obeys the gale ; And when his silver voice is heard , The coldest blood is warmly stirred , As at some glorious tale . The loftiest ...
... speaking grace . That smile hath might of magic art , To sway at will the stoniest heart , As a ship obeys the gale ; And when his silver voice is heard , The coldest blood is warmly stirred , As at some glorious tale . The loftiest ...
Page 14
... speak the tenderest things , And when the clouds expand their wings , All parting like a fleet , Your own belovèd Ship , I ween , Will foremost in the van be seen , And , rising loud and sweet , The sailor's joyful shouts be heard ...
... speak the tenderest things , And when the clouds expand their wings , All parting like a fleet , Your own belovèd Ship , I ween , Will foremost in the van be seen , And , rising loud and sweet , The sailor's joyful shouts be heard ...
Page 23
... speaking thus of Heaven . Weeping , she wrings his dripping hair That hangs across his cheek ; And leaves a hundred kisses there , But not one word can speak . In bliss she listens to his breath : Ne'er murmured so the breast of death ...
... speaking thus of Heaven . Weeping , she wrings his dripping hair That hangs across his cheek ; And leaves a hundred kisses there , But not one word can speak . In bliss she listens to his breath : Ne'er murmured so the breast of death ...
Page 25
... Speak ! -- but one word ! one little word ! " Tis all I ask of thee . If these eyes would give one transient gleam , To cheer this dark and dreadful dream , If , while I kiss thy cheek , These dear , dear lips , alas ! so pale , Before ...
... Speak ! -- but one word ! one little word ! " Tis all I ask of thee . If these eyes would give one transient gleam , To cheer this dark and dreadful dream , If , while I kiss thy cheek , These dear , dear lips , alas ! so pale , Before ...
Common terms and phrases
amid art thou Astrologer beauteous beauty behold beneath Blackwood's Magazine blessed blest bliss bosom breast breath bright calm cheek cheer child clouds dark dead death deep delight doth dreadful dream e'er earth eyes face fair fairy Fairy-Queen fear feel flowers Frank Frankfort gaze gentle gleam glen glide grave grief happy hath hear heart heaven heavenly holy hour hush hymn innocence Isabel Isle Isle of Palms kiss light living lonely look Magd Magdalene Master of Revels mirth morn mortal Morven mother mountains mournful murmuring NAIAD Nature's ne'er night o'er Octavo pale peace Plague prayer Priest rills round sail seems sighs silent sing sleep smile soft solitude song sorrow soul sound spirit stars sunny sweet tears thee thine thou art thought Twas Unimore unto voice walk Walsingham waves ween weep wild wretch
Popular passages
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 231 - ... of thy desert regardless of foes. Thy bold antlers call on the hunter afar, With a haughty defiance to come to the war ! No outrage is war to a creature like thee ! The bugle-horn fills thy wild spirit with glee, As thou bearest thy neck on the wings of the wind, And the laggardly gaze-hound is toiling behind. In the beams of thy forehead that glitter with death — In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath...
Page 228 - Magnificent creature ! so stately and bright ! In the pride of thy spirit pursuing thy flight; For what hath the child of the desert to dread, 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 him, may...
Page 223 - Those wandering veins of heavenly blue That stray along thy forehead fair, Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair? Oh, can that light and airy breath Steal from a being doomed to death; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent? Or art thou, what thy form would seem, The phantom of a blessed dream?