The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir, Volume 2W. Blackwood and sons, 1852 |
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Palavras e frases frequentes
afar amid art thou beauty behold beneath birds bliss bloom blue bosom boughs bowers brave breath breeze bright calm castle chartulary clouds Culross Dalkeith dark death deep desolate Donald Bane dream Duke of Rothesay earth fair feet flowers Frere gaze gleam gloom glory glow green grey haste hath heart Heaven heigh-ho hills Hippocrates holy hour Inveresk land Lapland life's light lone Malcolm Canmore midnight moon morning mountain mourn Musselburgh ne'er neath Newbottle night o'er Palermo pass'd proud Quincey rills roam round scene Scotland seem'd shine shone shore Sicily sigh sight silent singing Sir Eliduc sleep smile snow sorrow soul sound spirit St Serf star stood storm stream sweet thee theye thine thou art thoughts thro tomb Tranent trees turn'd Twas twere twilight VIII voice waves wild winds wing woods wyth
Passagens conhecidas
Página 416 - Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known account of time ? Without the favour of the everlasting register...
Página 167 - With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; Earthly these passions of the earth, They perish where they have their birth ; But love is indestructible. Its holy flame for ever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth ; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in heaven its perfect rest : It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time...
Página 415 - Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it ; Time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad have...
Página 415 - But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it. Time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself.
Página 255 - Fancy coloured life With those elysian rainbow hues, which Truth Melts with his rod, when disenchanting Youth. Where art thou now ? I look around, but see not The features and the form that haunt my dreams Where art thou now ? I listen, but for me not The deep, rich music streams Of that entrancing voice, which could bestow A zest to pleasure and a balm to woe : — I miss thy smile, when morn's first light is bursting Through the green branches of the casement tree; To list thy voice my lonely ear...
Página 344 - WHO sleeps below ? — who sleeps below ? — It is a question idle all ! Ask of the breezes as they blow, Say, do they heed, or hear thy call ? They murmur in the trees around, And mock thy voice, — an empty sound...
Página 349 - What doth it matter, then, if thus Without a stone, without a name To impotently herald us, We float not on the breath of fame ; But, like the dewdrop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour...
Página 202 - Percy's, wherewith he was sore displeased and so were all the Englishmen. And the earl Douglas said to sir Henry Percy: 'Sir, I shall bear this token of your prowess into Scotland and shall set it on high on my castle of Dalkeith, that it may be seen far off.
Página 231 - THE birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, 'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn. 'Tis twilight now ; The sovran sun behind his western hills — His Grampian range of amethystine hue — In glory hath declined.
Página 162 - Still woo'd I her in her mourning weeds, Till she show'da poniard bare, And wildly vow'd, if again I vex'd Her heart, to plunge it there ! " Day after day, ray after ray, She waned like an autumn sun, When droop the flowers, 'mid yellow bowers, And the waters wailing run : Day after day, like a broken rosebud, She wither...