Alnwick Castle: With Other Poems

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G. Dearborn, 1836 - Alnwick Castle - 98 pages
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Page 16 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard. Then wore his monarch's signet ring, Then pressed that monarch's throne — a King ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird.
Page 37 - Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Page 20 - She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb : But she remembers thee as one Long loved and for a season gone. For thee her poets' lyre is wreathed. Her marble wrought, her music breathed : For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes...
Page 29 - Praise to the bard ! his words are driven, Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, Where'er, beneath the sky of heaven, The birds of fame have flown. Praise to the man ! a nation stood Beside his coffin with wet eyes, Her brave, her beautiful, her good, As when a loved one dies.
Page 19 - That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song and dance and wine, — And thou art terrible ; the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine.
Page 87 - They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty; A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none.
Page 17 - At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood On old Plataea's day; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they.
Page 31 - All ask the cottage of his birth, Gaze on the scenes he loved and sung, And gather feelings not of earth His fields and streams among. They linger by the Doon's low trees, And pastoral Nith, and wooded Ayr, And round thy sepulchres, Dumfries ! The poet's tomb is there.
Page 21 - Her soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the Joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate and checks her tears. And she, the mother of thy boys. Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried Joys, And even she who gave thee birth, Will by their pilgrim-circled hearth Talk of thy doom without a sigh: For thou art freedom's now and fame's, One of the few, the immortal names, That...
Page 11 - That day its roof was triumph's arch ; Then rang, from aisle to pictured dome, The light step of the soldier's march, The music of the trump and drum ; And babe, and sire, the old, the young, And the monk's hymn, and minstrel's song, And woman's pure kiss, sweet and long, Welcomed her warrior home.

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