Oxford prize poems, a collection of English poems. [Uncorrected]


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Página 96 - And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. 'And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.
Página 73 - And unrestrained the generous vintage flows: Nor less your sons to manliest deeds aspire, And Asia's mountains glow with Spartan fire. So when, deep sinking in the rosy main, The western sun forsakes the Syrian plain, His watery rays refracted lustre shed. And pour their latest light on Carmel's head. Yet shines your praise, amid surrounding gloom. As the lone lamp that trembles in the tomb; For few the souls that spurn a tyrant's chain, And small the bounds of freedom's scanty reign. As the poor...
Página 177 - For mild he seemed as in Elysian bowers, Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours ; Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway, Curbing the fierce flame-breathing steeds of day ; Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep By holy maid on Delphis' haunted steep ; 'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, Too fair to worship, too divine to love.
Página 81 - And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither : so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.
Página 176 - He walks th* impalpable and pathless sky : The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold. Proud to display that form of faultless mould.
Página 84 - Ye hovering ghosts, that throng the starless air, Why shakes the earth ? why fades the light ? declare ! Are those his limbs, with ruthless scourges torn ? His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn ? His the pale form, the meek forgiving eye...
Página 78 - Israel's fate, And such the glories of their infant state. — Triumphant race ! and did your power decay ? Fail'd the bright promise of your early day ? No : — by that sword, which, red with heathen gore, A giant spoil, the stripling champion bore...
Página 67 - Where now thy might, which all those kings subdued ? No martial myriads muster in thy gate ; No suppliant nations in thy temple wait; No...
Página 96 - Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway, The mountains worship, and the isles obey ; Nor sun nor moon they need, — nor day, nor night ; — God is their temple, and the Lamb their light...
Página 88 - There barb'rous kings their sandal'd nations led, And steel-clad champions bow'd the crested head. There, when her fiery race the desert pour'd, And pale Byzantium fear'd Medina's sword, When coward Asia shook in trembling woe, And bent appall'd before the Bactrian bow ; From the moist regions of the western star The wand'ring hermit wak'd the storm of war.

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