Poems Part 1 (Volume 12)

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Página 421 - Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text — Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the — Moses — was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'house on the hill. First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill, And the parson was sitting upon a rock, At half past nine by the meet'n'house clock, Just the hour of the earthquake shock!
Página 419 - So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke — That was for spokes and floor and sills; He sent for lancewood to make the thills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum...
Página 2 - The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.
Página 1 - I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town.
Página 393 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main; The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming Lair.
Página 419 - they called it then. Eighteen hundred and twenty came: — Running as usual, much the same. Thirty and forty at last arrive ; And then came fifty -and fifty-five. Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer.
Página 247 - The wild-flowers who will stoop to number ? A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win them : — Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them I Nay, grieve not for the dead alone Whose song has told their hearts...

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