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Page 822 - ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
Page 261 - Orleans, and to export them from thence without paying any other duty than a fair price for the hire of the stores ; and his Majesty promises either to continue this permission, if he finds, during that time, that it is not prejudicial to the interests of Spain, or, if he should not agree to continue it there, he will assign to them, on another part of the banks of the Mississippi, an equivalent establishment.!
Page 823 - The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled...
Page 822 - Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
Page 880 - Companionless bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah, home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh ! Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...
Page 819 - LOCHIEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead' rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Page 821 - For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
Page 820 - Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements...