The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry, Volume 1

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Alaric Alexander Watts
Hurst, Chance, and Company, 1828 - English poetry
 

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Page 213 - And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand! And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's...
Page 185 - 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 fight, — the brands Still rusted in their bony hands ; In plague and famine some.
Page 93 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
Page 185 - ALL •worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The Sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its Immortality •' I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep Adown the gulf of Time ! I saw the last of human mould That shall Creation's death behold, As Adam saw her prime...
Page 214 - Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.
Page 69 - TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Page 70 - O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or, mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem. As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span • Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man.
Page 86 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone!
Page 93 - By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And -we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
Page 167 - They sin who tell us Love can die. 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...

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