The Lady of La Garaye

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Macmillan, 1871 - 153 pages
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Page 150 - WHENE'ER a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts, in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares.
Page 151 - Lo ! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls. As if a door in heaven should be Opened and then closed suddenly, The vision came and went, The light shone and was spent. On England's annals, through the long Hereafter of her speech and song, That light its rays shall cast From portals of the past. A Lady with...
Page 150 - Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp, — The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo ! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room.
Page 144 - Servant of God, well done ! They serve God well Who serve His creatures : when the funeral bell Tolls for the dead, there's nothing left of all That decks the scutcheon and the velvet pall Save this. The coronet is empty show : The strength and loveliness are hid below : The shifting wealth to others hath accrued...
Page 20 - But now succeeding generations hear Beneath the shadow of each crumbling arch The music low and drear, The muffled music of thy onward march, Made up of piping winds and rustling leaves And plashing rain-drops falling from slant eaves, And all mysterious unconnected sounds With which the place abounds. Time doth efface Each day some lingering trace Of human government and human care...
Page 38 - Like a sweet picture doth the lady stand, Still blushing as she bows ; one tiny hand, Hid by a pearl-embroidered gauntlet, holds Her whip, and her long robe's exuberant folds. The other hand is bare, and from her eyes Shades now and then the sun, or softly lies, With a caressing touch, upon the neck Of the dear glossy steed she loves to deck With saddle-housings worked in golden thread, And golden bands upon his noble head.
Page 3 - Friend of old days, of suffering, storm, and strife, Patient and kind through many a wild appeal ; In the arena of thy brilliant life Never too busy or too cold to feel...

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