The Poets of America, Volumen2John Keese S. Colman, 1842 - 326 páginas |
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Página 33
... the bustling world remote The lyre might wake its melody ; One feeble strain is all can swell From mine almost deserted shell , In mournful accents yet to tell That slumbers not its minstrelsy . 34 SUMMER MIDNIGHT . THERE IS AN HOUR of ...
... the bustling world remote The lyre might wake its melody ; One feeble strain is all can swell From mine almost deserted shell , In mournful accents yet to tell That slumbers not its minstrelsy . 34 SUMMER MIDNIGHT . THERE IS AN HOUR of ...
Página 41
... slow To each a moral gave ; And as they moved in mournful train , With rustling sound , along the plain , Taught them to sing a seraph's strain Of peace within the grave . D ** 42 THE SYLPH OF AUTUMN . And then , upraised.
... slow To each a moral gave ; And as they moved in mournful train , With rustling sound , along the plain , Taught them to sing a seraph's strain Of peace within the grave . D ** 42 THE SYLPH OF AUTUMN . And then , upraised.
Página 88
... mournful brow . But on this hill thou , Lord , hast dwelt , Since round its head the war - cloud curled , And wrapped our fathers , where they knelt In prayer and battle for a world . ODE . Here sleeps their dust ; ' tis holy Ode JOHN ...
... mournful brow . But on this hill thou , Lord , hast dwelt , Since round its head the war - cloud curled , And wrapped our fathers , where they knelt In prayer and battle for a world . ODE . Here sleeps their dust ; ' tis holy Ode JOHN ...
Página 92
... mournful glory , Thy high and hopeless struggle , brave and brief ! Wo for the bitter stain That from our country's banner may not part : Wo for the captive , wo ! For burning pains , and slow , Are his who dieth of the fevered heart ...
... mournful glory , Thy high and hopeless struggle , brave and brief ! Wo for the bitter stain That from our country's banner may not part : Wo for the captive , wo ! For burning pains , and slow , Are his who dieth of the fevered heart ...
Página 123
... mournful prelude , while the star Of morning fades ; —but when heaven's gates unbar , And on the world a tide of glory rushes , Burns on the hill , and down the valley blushes ; The mountain bard in livelier numbers sings , While ...
... mournful prelude , while the star Of morning fades ; —but when heaven's gates unbar , And on the world a tide of glory rushes , Burns on the hill , and down the valley blushes ; The mountain bard in livelier numbers sings , While ...
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
The Poets of America: Illustrated by One of Her Painters - Primary Source ... John Keese Sin vista previa disponible - 2013 |
Términos y frases comunes
ALBERT PIKE APRIL SHOWER autumn beam beauty beneath beneath the sky bird bless blest bloom blossoms bower breast breath bright brow CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN chimes clouds dark deep dost dreams earth eternal FELICIA HEMANS FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flashed flowers FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD friends gale gaze gentle gleam glorious glory grave green HADAD HAMPTON BEACH hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour hues hushed leaves life's light lingers lone look melody morning mother mountain mournful murmur neath night NORTH BURIAL GROUND o'er rest rock rolled round SEBA SMITH shade shadows shine shore sing skies sleep slumbers smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars stream summer sweet swells tears tempest thee thine Thou art thoughts throng tree trembling twilight URSA MAJOR vale voice Washington Allston waves weary wild winds wings woods youthful
Pasajes populares
Página 37 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin. Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Página 35 - And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor.
Página 97 - ... heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave.
Página 35 - Week in. week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.
Página 162 - And hung his bow upon thy awful front, And spoke in that loud voice which seemed to him Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake The "sound of many waters," and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.
Página 283 - The bell's deep tones are swelling; 'tis the knell Of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past, yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred As by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud...
Página 35 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
Página 20 - A sister to the night !— Sleep not ! — thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast: Sleep not! — from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of...
Página 285 - He presses, and forever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And...
Página 196 - I love ye — chimes of Motherland, With all this soul of mine, And bless the Lord that I am sprung Of good old English line : And like a son I sing the lay That England's glory tells; For she is lovely to the Lord, For you, ye Christian bells...
Referencias a este libro
The American Byron: Homosexuality and the Fall of Fitz-Greene Halleck John W. M. Hallock Vista previa limitada - 2000 |