Poems of James Montgomery

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Routledge, Warne, & Routledge, 1860 - 379 pages

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Page 76 - There is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside...
Page 73 - Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest...
Page 106 - THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
Page 102 - There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground...
Page 73 - A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, Time-tutored age and love-exalted youth: The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime the...
Page 108 - Him midst shame and scorn ; My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for Him would die ; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried,
Page 107 - I gave him all ; he blessed it, brake, And ate; but gave me part again; Mine was an angel's portion then; For, while I fed with eager haste, That crust was manna to my taste.
Page 370 - Night is the time for toil; To plough the classic field, Intent to find the buried spoil Its wealthy furrows yield; Till all is ours that sages taught, That poets sang, or heroes wrought.
Page 44 - The Goldfinch, in his mirth ; The Thrush, a spendthrift of his powers, Enrapturing heaven and earth ; The Swan, in majesty and grace, Contemplative and still ; But roused, — no Falcon, in the chase, Could like his satire kill. The Linnet in simplicity, In tenderness the Dove ; But more than all beside was he The Nightingale in love. Oh ! had he never stoop'd to shame, Nor lent a charm to vice, How had Devotion loved to name That Bird of Paradise ! Peace to the dead! — In Scotia's choir Of Minstrels...
Page 56 - The Dead are like the stars by day ; — Withdrawn from mortal eye, But not extinct, they hold their way In glory through the sky : Spirits, from bondage thus set free, Vanish amidst immensity, Where human thought, like human sight, Fails to pursue their trackless flight.

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