The ten-day tourist; or, Sniffs of the mountain breeze

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A.W. Bennett, 1865 - 170

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Strona 24 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Strona 77 - With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming, In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming; Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.
Strona 76 - CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling. And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Strona 120 - The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid ; And thus an airy point he won, Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnished sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled...
Strona 32 - That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there. Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained...
Strona 76 - How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number?
Strona 33 - He called his child — no voice replied, He searched with terror wild — Blood, blood, he found on every side — But nowhere found his child. " Hellhound ! by thee my child 's devoured ! " The frantic father cried ; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side...
Strona 120 - Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock...
Strona 34 - And marbles storied with his praise Poor Gelert's bones protect. Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester, unmoved ; Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass, Llewellyn's sorrow proved. And here he hung his horn and spear, And oft as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell ! And till great Snowdon's rocks grow old, And cease the storm to brave, The consecrated spot shall hold The name of Gelert's grave.
Strona 119 - The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle...

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