How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill, To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again The upland breeze, the comfortable sun,...
The Norman armament beneath thy rocks, St Valerie, Is moored; and, streaming to the morn, three hundred banners fly, Of crimson silk; with golden cross, effulgent o'er the rest,...
So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade, Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, The pleasing pictures of the present fade, And like a summer vapour steal away! ...
Shout! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! Upon the shores of that renowned land, Where erst His mighty arm and outstretched hand He lifted high, And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy;...
How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal! As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze Breathes on the trembling sense of pale disease, So piercing to my heart their force I feel!...
There is a poor blind man, who, every day, In summer sunshine, or in winter's rain, Duly as tolls the bell, to the high fane Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,...
Old soldier! old soldier! the beams of the day, That shone on thy sabre, have long passed away, And thy sun is gone down, and thy few hairs are gray, Old soldier! ...
Frown ever opposite, the angel cried, Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand, Severed these riven rocks, and bade them stand Severed for ever! The vast ocean-tide,...
Oh, who would keep a little bird confined, When cowslip bells are nodding in the wind; When every hedge as with "good morrow" rings, And, heard from wood to coombe, the blackbird sings!...