The Poetical Works of Fitz-Greene Halleck: Now First Collected. Illustrated with Steel Engravings, from Drawings by American Artists

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D. Appleton, 1847 - 280 strani
 

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Stran 17 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court he bore The trophies of a conqueror...
Stran 19 - They fought like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered; but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won, Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose— Like flowers at set of sun.
Stran 40 - GREEN be the turf above thee. Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Stran 18 - Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's...
Stran 153 - twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?
Stran 96 - They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty; A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none.
Stran 153 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, , An essence that breathes of it many a year ; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer...
Stran 31 - Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong, A hate of tyrant and of knave, A love of right, a scorn of wrong, Of coward, and of slave ; • A kind, true heart, a spirit high, . , That could not fear, and would not bow, Were written in his manly eye, And on his manly brow.
Stran 27 - Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; And few have won a greener wreath Than that which binds his hair. His is that language of the heart, In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek ; And his that music, to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time, In cot or castle's mirth or moan, In cold or sunny clime.
Stran 94 - Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree, Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave ; Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands are bold and free, And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave; And where none kneel, save when to Heaven they pray, Nor even then, unless in their own way. II. Theirs is a pure republic, wild, yet strong, A

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