The Poetical Works of Fitz-Greene Halleck: Now First Collected. Illustrated with Steel Engravings, from Drawings by American Artists

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D. Appleton, 1848 - History - 280 pages
 

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Page 19 - 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...
Page 235 - I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him : at once, good night : — Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.
Page 42 - 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 155 - twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?
Page 98 - 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 155 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, , An essence that breathes of it many a year ; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer...
Page 21 - And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: "Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires ; Strike— for the green graves of your sires; God...
Page 25 - 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,...
Page 34 - 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. And still, as on his funeral day, Men stand his cold earth-couch around, With the mute homage that we pay To consecrated ground.
Page 23 - Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die.

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