The Academical

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James Maclehose, 1870 - 127 Seiten
 

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Seite 72 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Seite 98 - Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel : They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night...
Seite 93 - O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says "Haste and come to me!
Seite 94 - Now, ever alake! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! I saw the new moon late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm.
Seite 93 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms Burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me ! 0 think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak' nae mair ! There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirconnell lea.
Seite 93 - I wish I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me.
Seite 81 - His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag, The bright flamingoes...
Seite 77 - And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed.
Seite 73 - And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ; The Valley of Unrest 7 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore...
Seite 94 - Curst be the heart that thought the thought. And curst the hand that fired the shot. When in my arms burd ' Helen dropt. And died to succour me ! O think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak...

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