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Atlantic Ocean Baltic battle Battle of Hohenlinden beatific beauty beneath Bible blood bosom bower breath Burns Campbell Campbell's Caroline charm clan Connocht Culloden dark dead death deep dust earth English field fire flag of England flower Gertrude of Wyoming Glasgow Glenara Hallowed Ground heart Hearts of oak Heaven heavenly Highland hills Hohenlinden Indian Introduction isles Leonard's life's light living Lochiel lonely Lord love lies bleeding Love's Mariners of England Michael Macmillan Milton morning mountain murmuring muse Nature Nature's Nelson night O'Connor's Child o'er ocean Ode to Winter pale Partition of Poland passion peace Pleasures of Hope poem poet published rhyme scene sewed shade shore sire smile Soldier's Dream song soul sound spirit stanza star storm sweet sword tears thee Theodric thou thunder tomb View from St W. T. Webb waves weep wild winds wing Wordsworth Ye Mariners
Pagina 29 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry. Few, few shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Pagina 28 - Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame ! HOHENLINDEN, 1800.
Pagina 25 - Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Pagina 22 - Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow!
Pagina xxxiii - On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Pagina 1 - Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below. Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, "Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?— 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Pagina 25 - By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young...
Pagina 28 - Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale LOCHIEL.
Pagina 29 - But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neighed To join the dreadful revelry.
Pagina 30 - Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle This dark and stormy water?' 'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 'His horsemen hard behind us ride — Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?