The Select Poetical Works

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Phillips & Sampson, 1848 - 406 Seiten
 

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Seite 318 - Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they?
Seite 214 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Seite 319 - Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ?— Our fathers bled. Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae...
Seite 192 - Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel „ While the same plumage that had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.
Seite 320 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock and Parga's shore Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown The Heracleidan blood might own.
Seite 265 - Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land— Good Night!
Seite 332 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home!
Seite 240 - Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes They had not their own lustre, but the look Which is not of the earth; she was become The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts Were combinations of disjointed things; And forms impalpable and unperceived Of others
Seite 320 - Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells: In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells ; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad.
Seite 214 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail...

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