Outre-mer: A Pilgrimage Beyond the Sea

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Ticknor and Fields, 1856 - 374 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 316 - Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.
الصفحة 215 - My panting side was charged when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.^ There was I found by one who had himself Been hurt by the archers.
الصفحة 215 - O, to Heaven how lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried, " Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see...
الصفحة 171 - To be that lady's husband, to love her day and night ; Her father is our lord the king, — to him the thing is known ; And now — that I the news should bring ! — she claims me for her own. " ' Alas ! my love, alas ! my life, the right is on their side ; Ere I had seen your face, sweet wife, she was betrothed my bride ; But — O, that I should speak the word ! — since in her place you lie, It is the bidding of our lord that you this night must die.
الصفحة 249 - I may differ from the Catholic in regard to the object of his supplication, yet it seems to me a beautiful and appropriate solemnity, that, at the close of each daily epoch of life, — which, if it have not...
الصفحة 47 - Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
الصفحة 249 - He quits his mule, and mounts his horse, And through the street directs his course ; Through the street of Zacatin To the Alhambra spurring in. Woe is me, Alhama...
الصفحة 180 - Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry ; But, putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry...
الصفحة 226 - Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the saints was to be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.
الصفحة 184 - To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply — Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky. There...

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