Mazeppa: A Poem

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A. and W. Galignani, 1822 - 70
 

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Strona 58 - And the serpent writhing in her beak?' 'Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey. But it is odd that she does not devour it.' He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, faintly, 'It is not yet time!' As he spoke, the stork flew away. My eyes followed it for a moment, it could hardly be longer than ten might be counted. I felt Darvell's weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, turning to look upon his face, perceived that he was dead!
Strona 25 - For time at last sets all things even — And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong.
Strona 23 - Twas but a day he had been caught ; And, snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led : They bound me on, that menial throng, Upon his back with many a thong ; Then loosed him with a sudden lash — Away !— away !— and on we dash ! — Torrents less rapid and less rash.
Strona 37 - The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse, and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils never...
Strona 69 - Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, Above the far Atlantic! — She has taught Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag, The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, May strike to those whose red right hands have bought Rights cheaply earn'd with blood.
Strona 57 - ... regarding us. I know not what impelled me to drive it away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few circles in the air, and returned exactly to the same spot. Darvell pointed to it, and smiled: he spoke — I know not whether to himself or to me — but the words were only, " Tis well!" "What is well? what do you mean?" "No matter: you must bury me here this evening, and exactly "where that bird is now perched. You know the rest of my injunctions.
Strona 31 - And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more: The skies spun like a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Which saw no farther; he who dies Can die no more than then I died. O'ertortured by that ghastly ride...
Strona 63 - Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls Are level with the waters, there shall be A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls, A loud lament along the sweeping sea! If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee, What should thy sons do? — anything but weep: And yet they only murmur in their sleep. In contrast with their fathers — as the slime, The dull green ooze of the receding deep, Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam That drives the sailor shipless to his home, Are they to those that...
Strona 37 - At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs ? No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling troop; I see them come! In one vast squadron they advance!
Strona 70 - In their proud charnel of Thermopylae, Than stagnate in our marsh, — or o'er the deep Fly, and one current to the ocean add, One spirit to the souls our fathers had, One freeman more, America, to thee ! MORGANTE MAGGIORE OF PULCI.

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