The Bard, Or, The Towers of Morven: A Legendary Tale

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A.K. Newman and Company, 1810 - 160 pages

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Page 59 - Twas only at Llewellyn's board the faithful Gelert fed ; he watched, he served, he cheered his lord, and sentinel'd his bed. In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John ; but now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on. And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise, all Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries.
Page 62 - Best of thy kind, adieu ! The frantic deed which laid thee low, This heart shall ever rue.
Page 131 - Oh, might she stay, to wash away her stains, And fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan She heaves is big with horror: but the foe, Like a staunch...
Page 61 - O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found, With blood-stain'd covert rent ; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent. He call'd his child, no voice replied ; He search'd with terror wild ; Blood, blood he found on every side ; But no where found his child. ' Hell hound! my child by thee's devour'd!
Page 47 - ... Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood Rolls fair and placid; where collected all In one impetuous torrent, down the steep It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round. At first an azure sheet, it rushes broad; Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls, And from the loud-resounding rocks below Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.
Page 62 - Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread ; But the same couch beneath Lay a...
Page 59 - Oh ! where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race ; So true, so brave, a lamb at home, A lion in the chase...
Page 60 - O'erturned his infant's bed he found, With blood-stained covert rent; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent. He called his child, no voice replied, He searched with terror wild; Blood, blood, he found on every side, But nowhere found his...
Page 154 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th
Page 57 - Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise. Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, . . Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.

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