Poems, from the Portuguese of Luis de Camoens, with notes &c. by visct. Strangford

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J. Carpenter, 1803 - 159 pages
 

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Page 107 - So to intergraft our hands as yet Was all the means to make us one, And pictures in our eyes to get Was all our propagation.
Page 142 - ... faithful heart should truly tell The secret charm, the tender spell, That bound it first to thee. Tis not, that cradled in thine eyes The baby Love for ever lies On couches...
Page 37 - O'er the buxom breast of Spring. Hope, that buds in lover's heart, Lives not through the scorn of years ; Time makes Love itself depart ; Time and scorn congeal the mind ; Looks unkind Freeze affection's warmest tears. Time shall make the bushes green : Time dissolve the winter snow; Winds be soft and skies serene ; Linnets sing their wonted strain ; But again Blighted love shall never blow.
Page 18 - CAMOENS present a mournful picture not merely of individual calamity, but of national ingratitude. He whose best years had been devoted to the service of his country, he, who had taught her literary fame to rival the proudest efforts of Italy itself, and who seemed born to revive the remembrance of ancient gentility and Lusian heroism, was compelled in age, to wander through the streets, a wretched dependant on casual contribution.
Page 47 - ... still, and winds serene, I wander silently. And while my lone step prints the dew, Dear are the dreams that bless my view, To Memory's eye the maid appears, For whom have sprung my sweetest tears, So oft, so tenderly...
Page 43 - JUST like love is yonder Rose : — Heavenly fragrance round it throws, Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose, And in the midst of briers it blows ; Just like love.
Page 45 - I saw the passions' pliant slave In gallant trim and gay, His course was pleasure's placid wave, His life a summer's day.
Page 9 - The sighs of grief were soon lost in those of mutual delight, and the hour of parting was, perhaps, the sweetest of our poet's existence. Thus comforted, he removed to Santarem (the scene of his banishment) but speedily returned to Lisbon...
Page 121 - Canson, vos pogues ir per tot le mond ; Namque locutus sum in lingua trina, Ut gravis mea spina Si saccia per lo mondo, ogn' uomo il senta : Forse pietà n
Page 39 - I WHISPER'D her my last adieu, I gave a mournful kiss; Cold show'rs of sorrow bath'd her eyes And her poor heart was torn with sighs; Yet — strange to tell — 'twas then I knew Most perfect bliss. — For Love, at other times suppress'd, Was all...

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