The romance of the forest, by the authoress of 'A Sicilian romance'.

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Page 43 - I had a thing to say, — but let it go. The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton and too full of gawds To give me audience. If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound on into the drowsy race of night...
Page 2 - E'en have you seen, bathed in the morning dew, The budding rose, its infant bloom display ; When first its virgin tints unfold to view, It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. "So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth's damask glow, just dawning on her cheek, I gazed, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak...
Page 125 - With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave. And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
Page 234 - JOY'S ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best, They would have thought, who heard the strain. They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing...
Page 152 - Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn ; Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt Of solitude and melancholy born ? He needs not woo the Muse ; he is her scorn.
Page 95 - ... shooting into a variety of grotesque forms, composed a scenery singularly solemn and sublime.* Dark woods, intermingled with bold projections of rock, sometimes barren, and sometimes covered with the purple bloom of wild flowers, impended over the lake, and were seen in the clear mirror of its waters. The wild and alpine heights which rose above were either crowned with perpetual snows, or exhibited tremendous crags and masses of solid rock, whose appearance was continually changing as the rays...
Page 66 - Brood of fate, Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait ; Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, And look not madly wild, like thee?
Page 1 - He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. And ever and anon he beat...
Page 205 - Mighty victor, mighty lord! Low on his funeral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.

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