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Page 51 - Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand still. — How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Page 50 - And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil : We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup.
Page 49 - OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.
Page 139 - When pain and anguish wring the brow A ministering angel thou.
Page 143 - The flying rumours gather'd as they roll'd, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told ; And all who told it added something new, ; And all who heard it made enlargements too , In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.
Page 151 - A Poet's daughter? Could I claim The consanguinity of fame, Veins of my intellectual frame ! Your blood would glow Proudly to sing that gentlest name Of aught below. A Poet's daughter— dearer word Lip hath not spoke nor listener heard, Fit theme for song of bee and bird From morn till even, And wind-harp by the breathing stirred Of star-lit heaven.
Page 115 - ... sighed to think that the traitor love Should conquer a heart so light : But she thought not of future days of woe, While she carolled in tones so gay — " The gathered rose and the stolen heart Can charm but for a day.
Page 49 - Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear : When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind...
Page 66 - And glowing purple canopies, How call ye this the season's fall, That seems the pageant of the year? Richer and brighter far than all The pomp that spring and summer wear, Red falls the westering light of day On rock and stream and winding shore ; Soft woody banks and granite...