The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore, Volumen2

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D. Appleton, 1853
 

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Página 318 - Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ; But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past ! Utawas' tide ! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Página 217 - They made her a grave, too cold and damp "For a soul so warm and true; "And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, "Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, "She paddles her white canoe.
Página 314 - I KNEW, by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here...
Página 209 - Oh Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, Let not my spirit's flight be weak : Let me not, like this feeble thing, With brine still dropping from its wing, Just sparkle in the solar glow And plunge again to depths below; But, when I leave the grosser throng With whom my soul hath dwelt so...
Página 309 - I believe this is the finest confluence in the world. The two rivers are much of the same breadth, each about half a league ; but the Missouri is by far the most rapid, and seems to enter the Mississippi like a conqueror, through which it carries its white waves to the opposite shore without mixing them : afterwards it gives its colour to the Mississippi, which it never loses again, but carries quite down to the sea."— Letter xxvii.
Página 95 - And few have e'er deceived like thee, Alas ! deceived me too severely ! Fare thee well ! yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ; Who now would rather trust that smile, And die with thee than live without thee...
Página 332 - There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost, Full many a mariner's bones are tost ! Von shadowy Bark hath been to that wreck, And the dim blue fire that lights her deck Doth play on as pale and livid a crew, As ever yet drank the churchyard dew ! To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast, To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast ; By skeleton shapes her sails are...
Página 217 - They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, wae nerer afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses.
Página 315 - With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed...
Página 293 - How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less than all thou hast forborne to be!

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