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Seite 441 - THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ;' Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Seite 423 - SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! JEIIOVAH has triumph'd, — his people are free. Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave, How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave-. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! JEHOVAH has triumph'd — his people are free.
Seite x - Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Seite 69 - Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright As they were all alive with light ; — And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, With their rich restless wings, that gleam Variously in the crimson beam Of the warm west,— as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span Th...
Seite 70 - Syria's thousand minarets ! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers where he had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping th...
Seite 131 - WHO has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave , * Its temples, and grottos , and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?
Seite 68 - Now, upon SYRIA'S land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
Seite 447 - On Lough Neagh's bank, as the fisherman strays, When the clear cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days In the wave beneath him shining...
Seite 71 - twas a sight — that Heaven — that child — A scene, which might have well beguil'd Ev'n haughty EBLIS of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by ! And how felt he, the wretched Man Reclining there — while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace.
Seite 70 - mid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount, Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turned To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burned Upon a brow more fierce than that...

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