The Poetical Works of Fitz-Greene Halleck

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Redfield, 1851 - 232 strani
 

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Stran 19 - But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be.
Stran 16 - 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 35 - 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 28 - Praise to the man ! a nation stood Beside his coffin with wet eyes, Her brave, her beautiful, her good, As when a loved one dies. And still, as on his funeral day, Men stand his cold earth-coucluaround, With the mute homage that we pay To consecrated ground.
Stran 82 - 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 121 - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S ' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Stran 53 - Who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing Would, like the Patriarch's, soothe a dying hour, With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower; With look like patient Job's eschewing evil; With motions graceful as a bird's in air ; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil...
Stran 37 - Tis with a nameless feeling of regret We gaze upon them as they melt away, And fondly would we bid them linger yet, But Hope is round us with her angel lay, Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; Dear are her whispers still, though lost their early power.
Stran 16 - Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's...
Stran 17 - And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: "Strike ! till the last armed foe expires ! Strike ! for your altars and your fires ! Strike ! for the green graves of your sires ; God, and your native land...

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