ARLISS'S LITERARY COLLECTIONS arms Barnard Castle beautiful behold bliss bloom bosom Box Hill breast breath bright brow castle charms cheek child church clouds cottage dark daugh death delight Der Freischutz earth Evaline eyes fair father feelings flowers fortune garden genius glory gothic architecture grace grave hand happy hath heart heaven hills HOLYROOD PALACE honour hour infant KENILWORTH CASTLE King lady light live Lollards look Lord LORD BYRON louis-d'ors marriage mind morning mountains mourn nature never night Norham Castle o'er palace pass pleasure poet poor pride queen rest rock rose round scene Shakspeare side sigh Sir William Stanhope sleep smile song soon sorrow soul sound spirit sweet Tamworth tears tender thee thine thing thou thought tion tower trees virtue walk Wallace's Cave weep wife wild young youth
Page 166 - But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire...
Page 351 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Page 165 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 165 - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him — But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
Page 165 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning.
Page 200 - ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose, For in your beauty's orient deep . These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day, For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more...
Page 165 - Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
Page 82 - Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by death revealed!
Page 183 - Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw: There selfish faction rules the day, And pride and avarice throng the way; Diseases taint the murky air, And midnight conflagrations glare; Loose Revelry, and Riot bold, In frighted streets their orgies hold ; Or, where in silence all is drowned, Fell Murder walks his lonely round ; No room for peace, no room for you, Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieu!