The life of Thomas Moore. Centenary ed

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Página 52 - When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.
Página 58 - 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.
Página 43 - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him ; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
Página 43 - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are sighing : But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying.
Página 60 - 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. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
Página 52 - The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown, And he who has but tears to give Must weep those tears alone.
Página 42 - Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps...
Página 53 - 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 triumphed — His people are free!
Página 60 - There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones — " thou blessed child ! When, young and haply pure as thou, I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " He hung his head — each nobler aim And hope and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. "There's a drop...
Página 44 - DEAR 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...

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