The corsair, a tale [in verse.].

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Página 65 - Salamis! Their azure arches through the long expanse More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep On such an eye, his palest beam he cast, When - Athens!
Página 33 - Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell ; But still her lips refused to send — " Farewell ! " For in that word, that fatal word, howe'er We promise, hope, believe, there breathes despair.
Página 11 - Ours the wild life in tumult still to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
Página 11 - O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limits to their sway Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. Ours the wild life in tumult still to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Página 15 - How gloriously her gallant course she goes! Her white wings flying — never from her foes — She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife.
Página 114 - These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel...
Página 65 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light! O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
Página 19 - And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. What is that spell, that thus his lawless train Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain? What should it be, that thus their faith can bind? The power of Thought - the magic of the Mind!
Página 112 - WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below ; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been : But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone...
Página 19 - That man of loneliness and mystery Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh; Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.

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