The Poets of America: Illustrated by One of Her PaintersJohn Keese S. Colman, 1841 - 284 страници |
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ALBERT PIKE autumn beam beauty beneath bird blest bloom blossoms bowers breast breath bright brow Bunker Hill Monument CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN chimes clouds dark deep dost dreams earth eternal FELICIA HEMANS FITZ-GREENE HALLECK flash flowers FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD friends gaze gentle gleam glorious glory golden golden air grave green HADAD HAMPTON BEACH hath hear heart heaven hills hour hues leaf leaves life's light lone look melody mighty morning mother mountain mournful murmur night NORTH BURIAL GROUND o'er pale passed rest roar rock roll round shade shadows shine shore sing skies sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream summer sweet swells tears thee thine Thou art throne tone tree twilight URSA MAJOR vale voice WASHINGTON ALLSTON waves weary wild WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT winds wings woods
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Страница 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.
Страница 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.
Страница 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.
Страница 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.
Страница 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...
Страница 95 - THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.
Страница 212 - DOST thou idly ask to hear At what gentle seasons Nymphs relent, when lovers near Press the tenderest reasons ? Ah, they give their faith too oft To the careless wooer ; Maidens' hearts are always soft : Would that men's were truer!
Страница 201 - But where are the sisters who hastened to greet The lowly Redeemer, and sit at his feet? I tread where the TWELVE in their wayfaring trod ; I stand where they stood with the CHOSEN OF GOD, — Where his blessing was heard and his lessons were taught, Where the blind were restored and the healing was wrought.
Страница 192 - The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.
Страница 154 - Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody, Brother, come home.