The poetical works of Thomas Moore, with illustr. by K. Halswelle1863 |
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Página vii
... never ran any risk of being in want . He had a kind friend in Lord Moira , who obtained for him permission to dedicate his Odes to the Prince of Wales , and a profitable subscription was raised , chiefly among the nobility , for their ...
... never ran any risk of being in want . He had a kind friend in Lord Moira , who obtained for him permission to dedicate his Odes to the Prince of Wales , and a profitable subscription was raised , chiefly among the nobility , for their ...
Página ix
... never felt the emotion of friend- ship towards any except Lord Clare , " and , perhaps , little Moore , " though he does not appear to have been quite able to divest himself of the notion that some of Moore's regard depended upon his ...
... never felt the emotion of friend- ship towards any except Lord Clare , " and , perhaps , little Moore , " though he does not appear to have been quite able to divest himself of the notion that some of Moore's regard depended upon his ...
Página x
... attached throughout life ; and never did the domestic hearth of a literary man exhibit a more perfect picture of household comfort . Up to his marriage Moore had been more X MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE . "Tell me how to punish thee,"
... attached throughout life ; and never did the domestic hearth of a literary man exhibit a more perfect picture of household comfort . Up to his marriage Moore had been more X MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE . "Tell me how to punish thee,"
Página xi
... never seen the lands he described , a person might learn as much of those countries from books as by riding on the back of a camel . In three years the poet had produced " Lalla Rookh , " which proved an immense success , seven editions ...
... never seen the lands he described , a person might learn as much of those countries from books as by riding on the back of a camel . In three years the poet had produced " Lalla Rookh , " which proved an immense success , seven editions ...
Página xiv
... countrymen were bound , he never sacrificed for place or emolument his political opinions . EDINBURGH , Sept. 25 , 1862 . CONTENTS . LALLA ROOKH , .. The Veiled Prophet of xiv MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE . “Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,"
... countrymen were bound , he never sacrificed for place or emolument his political opinions . EDINBURGH , Sept. 25 , 1862 . CONTENTS . LALLA ROOKH , .. The Veiled Prophet of xiv MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE . “Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,"
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Términos y frases comunes
Anacreon beam beautiful beneath Bermuda blessed blest bliss bloom blushing bosom bowers breath breeze bright brow burning Caliph Cashmere charm cheek dark dear death Dismal Swamp divine dream e'er earth eyes Fadladeen fair feel Feramorz fire flame flowers friends Ghebers glory glow gold Haram harp hast hath heart heaven hope hour hung hyæna isle Khorassan Lake Lake of Lucerne Lalla Rookh light lips live look look'd Lord Moira lover lute lyre maid Moore morning ne'er never night nymph o'er once pass'd pure Pythagoras roses round seem'd shade shed shine Shiraz sigh skies sleep smile soft song soul sparkling spirit star sweet sword tear tell thee there's thine thou thought thousand guineas throne turn'd Twas twill twine veil vermil wandering warm wave weep wild wing young youth
Pasajes populares
Página 439 - OH ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove ; When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream : No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
Página 421 - 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.
Página 25 - 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 447 - To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may / follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away.
Página 415 - Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh ! still remember me. When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest, Oh ! then remember me. Other arms may press thee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee Sweeter far may be; But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh ! then remember me.
Página 400 - This world is all a fleeting show For man's illusion given ; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, — There's nothing true but Heaven ! And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even ; And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom Are blossoms gathered for the tomb, — There's nothing bright but Heaven ! Poor wanderers of a stormy day, From wave to wave we're driven, And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troubled way, — There's nothing...
Página 60 - 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.
Página 398 - When night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine.
Página 460 - And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame ? I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Página 460 - OH, where's the slave so lowly, Condemn'd to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly ? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decay'd it, When thus its wing At once may spring To the throne of Him who made it f Farewell, Erin, — farewell, all, Who live to weep our fall...