American Poems (1625-1892)Walter Cochrane Bronson University of Chicago Press, 1912 - 669 страница |
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Страница 31
... feel my pain , For this loss of the Glory of our Age . Here is a subject for the loftiest Verse That ever waited on the bravest Hearse . And could my Pen ingeniously distill The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit In rare conceits , the ...
... feel my pain , For this loss of the Glory of our Age . Here is a subject for the loftiest Verse That ever waited on the bravest Hearse . And could my Pen ingeniously distill The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit In rare conceits , the ...
Страница 45
... feel my mind with raptures fir'd , I want those airs that Puss so oft inspir'd : No crowding thoughts my ready fancy fill , Nor words run fluent from my easy quill . Yet shall my verse deplore her cruel fate , And celebrate the virtues ...
... feel my mind with raptures fir'd , I want those airs that Puss so oft inspir'd : No crowding thoughts my ready fancy fill , Nor words run fluent from my easy quill . Yet shall my verse deplore her cruel fate , And celebrate the virtues ...
Страница 52
... feel . Now the vast Tumult wakes the drowsy Gods , Who all look down to see the mighty odds : When AMHERST there , like Peleus mighty Son , Dreadful in Arms and Tyrian Scarlet shone , Engaging here , in Martial Order stood Fierce as ...
... feel . Now the vast Tumult wakes the drowsy Gods , Who all look down to see the mighty odds : When AMHERST there , like Peleus mighty Son , Dreadful in Arms and Tyrian Scarlet shone , Engaging here , in Martial Order stood Fierce as ...
Страница 62
... feel it very soon . M'Dole . Give me a Glass . Here's Honesty in Trade : We English always drink before we deal . 80 2d Indian . Good Way enough ; it makes one sharp and cunning . M'Dole . Hand round another Gill . You ' re very welcome ...
... feel it very soon . M'Dole . Give me a Glass . Here's Honesty in Trade : We English always drink before we deal . 80 2d Indian . Good Way enough ; it makes one sharp and cunning . M'Dole . Hand round another Gill . You ' re very welcome ...
Страница 63
... let them murder , if they will , a Score ; The Guilt is theirs , while we secure the Gain , Nor shall we feel the bleeding Victims Pain . I 20 125 [ Exeunt . FROM ACT II . SCENE 11 Ponteach's Cabbin . Ponteach ROBERT ROGERS 63 333.
... let them murder , if they will , a Score ; The Guilt is theirs , while we secure the Gain , Nor shall we feel the bleeding Victims Pain . I 20 125 [ Exeunt . FROM ACT II . SCENE 11 Ponteach's Cabbin . Ponteach ROBERT ROGERS 63 333.
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Страница 175 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Страница 235 - Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Страница 205 - To Helen Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land! Israfel And the angel...
Страница 499 - He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in...
Страница 405 - And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays ; Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40 And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers...
Страница 215 - This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch...
Страница 550 - But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind. With tranquil restoration...
Страница 179 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Страница 215 - Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore.
Страница 175 - To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.