ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
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ancient angel arms band bard beaming beauty blest bold breath bright charm CHORUS clouds comes dark dear death deep doth early earth fair fame fear feeling fire friends gathering genius give gloom glory gone grave hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hope hour human hymn joined land Lautaro leave LIBERTY life's light living lonely look March mark Mary meet memory mighty mind mourn Muse native never night o'er o’er once peace POESY OF RELIGION poetry poets pure rise round scene SCOTTISH CHARACTER seemed shout side sing smile sorrow soul sound spirit spring stood storm strain sung sweet tear tell thee thine thou thought VIRTUE wander weep wild young youth
الصفحة 45 - Caledonia ! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams are left ; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill.
الصفحة 45 - From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; " An honest man's the noblest work of God ;" And, certes,* in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind. What is a lordling's pomp ? A cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind! Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! O Scotia, my dear, my native soil!
الصفحة 45 - And, oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle.
الصفحة 131 - The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea ; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; For standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
الصفحة 118 - And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side: In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the...
الصفحة 45 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
الصفحة 16 - Non possidentem multa vocaveris Recte beatum : rectius occupat Nomen beati qui deorum Muneribus sapienter uti Duramque callet pauperiem pati, Pejusque leto flagitium timet, Non ille pro caris amicis Aut patria timidus perire.
الصفحة 71 - FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race ; Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace ; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross ; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain.
الصفحة 95 - Amour sacré de la patrie, Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs ! Liberté ! Liberté chérie, Combats avec tes défenseurs ! Sous nos drapeaux, que la victoire Accoure à tes mâles accents ! Que tes ennemis expirants Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire ! Aux armes, etc.