Lays from the Land of the Gael

Framsida
M'Caw, Stevenson & Orr, 1879 - 152 sidor

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Sida 1 - By a daisy, whose leaves spread, Shut when Titan goes to bed ; Or a shady bush or tree, She could more infuse in me Than all Nature's beauties can In some other wiser man.
Sida 81 - Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young : And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — "Guess now who...
Sida 1 - In my former days, of bliss. Her divine skill taught me this, That from everything I saw I could some invention draw, And raise pleasure to her height Through the meanest object's sight.
Sida 111 - A wreathed garland of deserved praise, Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, I give to thee, Who knowest all my wayes, My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live, Wherein I die, not live ; for life is straight, Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee, To thee, who art more farre above deceit Then deceit seems above simplicitie.
Sida 1 - In the very gall of sadness. The dull loneness, the black shade, That these hanging vaults have made ; The strange music of the waves, Beating on these hollow caves ; This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss : The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight ; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
Sida 111 - A WREATHED garland of deserved praise, Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, I give to thee, who knowest all my ways, My crooked winding ways, wherein I live, Wherein I die, not live ; for life is straight, Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee, To thee, who art more far above deceit, Than deceit seems above simplicity. Give me simplicity, that I may live, So live and like, that I may know thy ways, Know them and practise them : then shall I give For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.
Sida 1 - The strange music of the waves Beating on these hollow caves, This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss, The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight, This my chamber of neglect Walled about with disrespect, From all these and this dull air, — A fit object for despair, — She hath taught me, by her might, To draw comfort and delight.
Sida 17 - How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom, No star of all heaven sends to light our Path to the tomb. Roll on, my song, and to after ages Tell how, disdaining all earth can give, He would have taught men, from wisdom's pages, The way to live. And...
Sida 149 - We look not at the things that are seen, but the things that are not seen ; for the things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal.
Sida 17 - ... sickness, and houseless nights, He bides in calmness the silent morrow That no ray lights. And lives he still, then? Yes! Old and hoary At thirtynine, from despair and woe, He lives, enduring what future story Will never know. Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble, Deep in your bosoms ! There let him dwell ! He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble, Here and in Hell.

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