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ancient appeared beautiful Board born bright called century Costley deal death delight died early England English entitled eyes fact fair father feel flowers friends gave genius give given Guardians hand head hear heart hope interest Ireland Irish island John Killarney kind King known lake land language leave lecture less light lines literature lived London look Lord Manchester matter mind Moore mountains nature never once passed Pendleton perhaps person pleasure poems poetry poets poor present published remarkable Romans Salford seems song speak spirit sweet taken tell thee things Thomas thou thought took town tramp trees true truth verse writers written young
Page 57 - To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
Page 165 - To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, The God Whom we adore, Be glory, as it was, is now, And shall be evermore.
Page 20 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 87 - mang the dewy weet ! Wi' spreckl'd breast, "When upward-springing, blythe, to greet, The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field Unseen, alane.
Page 119 - Do you question the young children in the sorrow-, Why their tears are falling so ? The old man may weep for his to-morrow, Which is lost in Long Ago. The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, — The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost.
Page 87 - Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! Wi' spreckl'd breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east.
Page 256 - DEAR Harp of my country ! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Island Harp ! I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song...
Page 309 - O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, » And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven...
Page 250 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle. To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die ! Now too — the joy most like divine Of all I ever dreamt or knew.