English Quotes — page 1621

Out on the heartless creed which nulls the claim Upon the heart of kindred, birth, and name.

'T was night, but night which the imperial moon, Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon, But still the noon of midnight; though the ray Was clear and bright, it was not that of day;

And Love is like the lightning in its might, Winging where least bethought its fiery flight, Melting the blade, despite the scabbard's guard.

For he had curious colours, that could give The human face so like, it seem'd to live.

It is a charmed ring—this emerald stone Will be a sign, when thou art from me gone. Mark if it changes; if a spot be seen On the now spotless ground of lighted green, Danger is round me; haste thou then to me, Thou know'st how fearless is …

For love is like the breathing wind, That everywhere may entrance find.

It was a summer evening; and the sea Seem'd to rejoice in its tranquillity ; Rolling its gentle waters to the west, Till the rich crimson blush'd upon their breast, Uniting lovingly the wave and sky, Like Hope content in its delight to die.

Then rose those deadlier sounds that tell When foes meet hand to hand,— The shout, the yell, the iron clang Of meeting spear and brand.

Light like the wan blue flames that wave Their death-torch o'er the murderer's grave ; And flickering shapes beset the way, Watching in gloom to seize their prey, Most terrible, for that the eye Wander'd in dim uncertainty ;

The bright cloud shone on the river's face, But the death-black waters had not a trace Of the crimson blaze that over them play'd : It seem'd as if a curse were laid On the grass, on the river, the tree, and the flower, And shut them out …

On the horizon is a star, Its earliest, loveliest one by far ; A blush is yet upon the sky, As if too beautiful to die,— A last gleam of the setting sun, Like hope when love has just begun ;

Where on earth is the truth that may vie With woman's lone and long constancy?

Let worldly coldness and care depart, And yield to the spell of the minstrel's art.

'Tis May again, another May, Looking as if it meant to stay ; So many are its thousand flowers, So glorious are its sunny hours, So green its earth, so blue its sky, As made for Hope's eternity.

But not like this is Nature's face, Though even she must bear the trace Of the great curse that clings to all ; Her leaves, her flowers, must spring to fall :

Oh, what am I, and what are they ? Masquers but striving to deceive Themselves and others ; and believe It is enough, if none shall know The covered mass of care below.

TO-MORROW, to-morrow, thou loveliest May, To-morrow will rise up thy first-born day; Bride of the summer, child of the spring, To-morrow the year will its favourite bring:

He fell as other thousands do, Trampled down where they fall, While on a single name is heap'd The glory gain'd by all. Yet even he whose common grave Lies in the open fields,

It matters not its history; love has wings Like lightning , swift and fatal, and it springs Like a wild flower where it is least expected, Existing whether cherish'd or rejected;

AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child, Ay, screen it if you may,— Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand Will scare the hawk away.

Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own, But only to the spring and summer known.

The dying chief sprang to his knee, And the staunch'd wounds well'd fearfully; But his gash'd arm, what is it now? Livid his lip, and black his brow, While over him the slayer stood, As if he almost scorn'd the blood

... oh! love will last When all that made it happiness is past,— When all its hopes are as the glittering toys Time present offers, time to come destroys,—

It was no fancy, he had named the name Of love, and at that thought her cheek grew flame: