Imagens das páginas
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Earth's compass round;

go

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in flight, - the
brands

Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some! Earth's cities had no sound nor tread, And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm passed by, Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun,

Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis Mercy bids thee go;
For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,

The vassals of the will? Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day; For all these trophied arts

And your high priesthood shall make And triumphs that beneath thee

earth

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"My lips that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,

The eclipse of Nature spreads my And the stormy winds do blow.

pall,

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And ocean was their grave;

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountainwaves,

Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below-
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more
And the storm has ceased to blow.

HOW DELICIOUS IS THE WIN-
NING.

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!

Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.

Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when pressed and
bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odor to the lily,

For the deck it was their field of fame, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,

Then bind Love to last for ever!

Love's a fire that needs renewal

Of fresh beauty for its fuel;

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer,

Love's wing moults when caged and Adown the glen rode armèd men,

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