Dolman's magazine [ed. by M.G. Keon and E. Price]., Volume 4

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Miles Gerald Keon
1846

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Page 541 - The glorious company of the Apostles, The goodly fellowship of the Prophets, The noble army of Martyrs praise thee.
Page 210 - The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires'
Page 211 - Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!
Page 212 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 128 - Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me...
Page 209 - OH ! call my brother back to me ! I cannot play alone ; The Summer comes with flower and bee — Where is my brother gone ? " The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track ; I care not now to chase its flight — Oh ! call my brother back ! " The flowers run wild — the flowers we sow'd Around our garden tree; Our vine is drooping with its load — Oh ! call him back to me...
Page 160 - A blank, my lord : She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i...
Page 216 - IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me...
Page 278 - And she may still exist in undiminished vigour when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.
Page 162 - The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to- the wild ocean.

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