A Library of American Literature from the Earliest Settlement to the Present Time: Literature of the republic, pt. 2. 1821-1834

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Edmund Clarence Stedman, Ellen Mackay Hutchinson
C.L. Webster, 1888
 

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Página 306 - All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first The
Página 306 - hours She lias a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she slides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over
Página 306 - spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around— Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Comes a still voice.— Yet a few
Página 306 - course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost
Página 115 - repel Hamlet's letters," and deny him access. This leads to that interview, so touchingly described by Ophelia,—of silent but piteous expostulation, of sorrow, suspicion, and unuttered reproach:— " With his other hand thus, o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face As he would draw it.
Página 314 - her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 1825.
Página 216 - day; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on—the Turk awoke; That bright dream was his last; He woke—to hear his sentries shriek, "Toarms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!
Página 312 - often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunder-bolts, or fill, With all the waters of the
Página 324 - swinging on brier and weed, -"-*- Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee.
Página 91 - OTAND! the ground's your own, my braves! ^ Will ye give it up to slaves ? Will ye look for greener graves ? Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel ? Hear it in that battle-peal I Read it on yon bristling steel I Ask it,-—ye who will.

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