Henry Glassford Bell

“{{Commonscat-inline}}”

“{{Wikipedia-inline}}”

“Her neck is bared—the blow is struck—the soul has pass'd away;The bright—the beautiful—is now a bleeding piece of clay!—A solemn text! Go, think of it, in silence and alone,Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories of a throne!”

“The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way,And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay;And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyesUpon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.”

“I look'd far back into the past, and lo! in bright array,I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages pass'd away.It was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls,And gardens with their broad green walks, where soft the footstep falls.”