A Widow's Tale: And Other Poems

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B.J. Holdsworth, 1827 - 155 pages
 

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Page 80 - I wandered forth at noon : alas ! On earth's maternal bosom The scythe had left the withering grass, And stretched the fading blossom. And thus, I thought, with many a sigh, The hopes we fondly cherish, Like flowers which blossom but to die, Seem only born to perish. Once more, at eve, abroad I strayed, Through lonely hay-fields musing, While every breeze that round me played, Rich fragrance was diffusing.
Page 63 - Maintain'd that lingering spell which age endears, And while he told his tale his eyes were dim with tears. But not with tears of sorrow ; — for the eye Is often wet with joy and gratitude ; And well his faltering voice, and tear, and sigh Declared a heart by thankfulness subdued : Brief feelings of regret might there intrude, Like clouds which shade awhile the moon's fair light ; But meek submission soon her power...
Page 72 - NOT ours the vows of such as plight Their troth in sunny weather, While leaves are green, and skies are bright, To walk on flowers together. But we have loved as those who tread The thorny path of sorrow, With clouds above, and cause to dread Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. That thorny path, those stormy skies, Have drawn our spirits nearer; And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, Each to the other dearer. Love, born in...
Page 33 - BEFORE proud Rome's imperial throne In mind's unconquered mood, As if the triumph were his own, The dauntless captive stood. None, to have seen his free-born air, Had fancied him a captive there. Though, through the crowded streets of Rome, With slow and stately tread, Far from his own loved island home, That day in triumph led, — Unbound his head, unbent his knee, Undimmed his eye, his aspect free.
Page 36 - Rome, with her palaces and towers, By us unwished, unreft, Her homely huts and woodland bowers To Britain might have left; Worthless to you their wealth must be, But dear to us, for they were free!
Page 66 - But more she loved the word, the smile, the look, Of those who rear'd her with religious care ; With fearful joy she conn'd that holy book, At whose unfolded page full many a prayer, In which her weal immortal had its share, Recurr'd to memory ; for she had been...
Page 47 - Not so, thought he, their noble king, As his course he seaward sped, — And each base slave like a guilty thing, Hung down his conscious head : — He knew the ocean's Lord on high ! They, that he scorned their senseless lie.
Page 47 - To win his smile, his favour gain. They told him e'en the mighty deep His kingly sway confessed : That he could bid its billows leap Or still its stormy breast ! He smiled contemptuously, and cried, " Be then my boasted empire tried !" Down to the ocean's sounding shore The proud procession came, To see its billows' wild uproar King Canute's power proclaim ; Or, at his high and dread command, In gentle murmurs kiss the strand.
Page 34 - Unbound his head, unbent his knee, Undimmed his eye, his aspect free. A free and fearless glance he cast On temple, arch, and tower, By which the long procession passed Of Rome's victorious power ; And somewhat of a scornful smile Upcurled his haughty lip the while.
Page 37 - Thou ow'st thy laurelled brow ; Inglorious victory had been thine, . And more inglorious bondage mine. "Now I have spoken, do thy will ; Be life or death my lot, Since Britain's throne no more I fill, To me it matters not. My fame is clear ; but on my fate Thy glory or thy shame must wait.

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