Selections from the American PoetsHarper, 1843 - 316 pages |
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Page xi
... passing the Grave of my Sister GEORGE H. CALVERT . Washington . From Andre and Arnold , a Dramatic fragment ALFRED B. STREET . • 267 270 • 271 A Forest Walk . An American Forest Spring · . 273 . 276 J. K. MITCHELL . Song of the Prairie ...
... passing the Grave of my Sister GEORGE H. CALVERT . Washington . From Andre and Arnold , a Dramatic fragment ALFRED B. STREET . • 267 270 • 271 A Forest Walk . An American Forest Spring · . 273 . 276 J. K. MITCHELL . Song of the Prairie ...
Page 13
... pass the western main : Reserve this glory for thy native soil , And , what must please thee more , for thy own reign . Of this huge globe , how small a part we know— Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny ? How disproportion'd ...
... pass the western main : Reserve this glory for thy native soil , And , what must please thee more , for thy own reign . Of this huge globe , how small a part we know— Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny ? How disproportion'd ...
Page 44
... pass , like autumn fruits , Garner'd , consumed , and springing fresh to life , Again to perish , while he views the sun , The seasons roll , in rapt serenity , And high communion with celestial powers . Some say ' tis Shem , our father ...
... pass , like autumn fruits , Garner'd , consumed , and springing fresh to life , Again to perish , while he views the sun , The seasons roll , in rapt serenity , And high communion with celestial powers . Some say ' tis Shem , our father ...
Page 52
... pass'd ! What Mausoleums crowd the mournful waste ! The tombs of empires fallen ! and nations gone ! Each , once inscribed in gold with " AYE TO LAST , " Sate as a queen ; proclaim'd the world her own , And proudly cried , " By me no ...
... pass'd ! What Mausoleums crowd the mournful waste ! The tombs of empires fallen ! and nations gone ! Each , once inscribed in gold with " AYE TO LAST , " Sate as a queen ; proclaim'd the world her own , And proudly cried , " By me no ...
Page 60
... pass'd the moor's black When hell's terrific region scream'd anew . Undaunted on their foes they fiercely flew ; As fierce , the dusky warriors crowd the fight ; Despair inspires ; to combat's face they glue ; With groans and shouts ...
... pass'd the moor's black When hell's terrific region scream'd anew . Undaunted on their foes they fiercely flew ; As fierce , the dusky warriors crowd the fight ; Despair inspires ; to combat's face they glue ; With groans and shouts ...
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Common terms and phrases
Ajalon amid beam beauty beneath bird bless'd blue bosom bowers breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek clouds cold courser dark dead death deep dost dread dreams earth EARTH'S CHILDREN fair fear flowers forest frostwork gaze gentle Gibeon glorious glory glow grave green HADAD hand hast Hasty Pudding hath hear heard heart heaven hills hour leaves light lips living lonely look look'd maize Miriam moon morning mountain murmur muse night o'er ocean pale pass'd peace Piso red planet Mars rill rose round Rouville seem'd seraph shade shadows shine shore silent skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stamp'd stars stood storm stream sunbright sunny sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thought tide tomb trees Twas vex'd voice wake waters wave wild winds wings woods young youth
Popular passages
Page 288 - He was chubby and plump ; a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle , But I heard him exclaim,...
Page 15 - IN spite of all the learned have said, I still my old opinion keep; The posture that we give the dead Points out the soul's eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands; — The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends, And shares again the joyous feast.
Page 160 - And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the wave his own...
Page 288 - As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St.
Page 288 - Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Page 134 - And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all thmgs else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine.
Page 187 - Ye say their cone-like cabins, That clustered o'er the vale, Have fled away like withered leaves Before the autumn gale, But their memory liveth on your hills, Their baptism on your shore, Your everlasting rivers speak Their dialect of yore.
Page 87 - Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; There's a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; And I often stop with the fear I feel, He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell, Chime of the hour, or funeral knell, The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, When the clock strikes clear at morning light,...
Page 254 - Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair ! Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds Unfold! — No language? Everlasting light, And everlasting silence?— Yet the eye May read and understand. 'The hand of God Has written legibly what man may know — THE GLORY OF THE MAKER.
Page 201 - Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the kind, Yielded to thee with tears — The venerable form, the exalted mind. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wring Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. In vain ; thy gates deny All passage save to those who hence depart; Nor to the streaming eye Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart.