Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade Whereer you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade Whereer you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waters wide.
What exile from himself can flee To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life - the demon Thought.
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
My days among the dead are passed Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!
Stay the course, light a star,Change the world where'er you are.
Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.
And thus decreed the court above--
"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where'er the boy may choose to go.
Well may your heart believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.
Where'er he wished to jog,
A happy wife, altho' she led
The life of any dog.
I am as a weed Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Where'er you find the cooling western breeze', In the next line, it whispers through the trees'If crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep', The reader's threatened, not in vain, with sleep'.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories