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Сторінка 41 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters. Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Сторінка 39 - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower.
Сторінка 42 - I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Сторінка 41 - For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, 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.
Сторінка 43 - Ye who love the haunts of Nature, Love the sunshine of the meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the branches. And the rain-shower and the snowstorm, And the rushing of great rivers Through their palisades of pine-trees, And the thunder in the mountains...
Сторінка 347 - And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God the glory ; and he was eaten of worms, and gave up the ghost.
Сторінка 218 - My former thoughts returned : the fear that kills ; And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills ; And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
Сторінка 43 - Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles Through the green lanes of the country, Where the tangled barberry-bushes Hang their tufts of crimson berries Over stone walls gray with mosses, Pause by some neglected graveyard, For a while to muse, and ponder On a half-effaced inscription, .' Written with little skill of song-craft, Homely phrases, but each letter Full of hope and yet of heart-break, Full of all the tender pathos Of the Here and the Hereafter ; — Stay and read this rude inscription, Kead this...
Сторінка 317 - She moved upon this earth a shape of brightness, A power that from its objects scarcely drew One impulse of her being — in her lightness Most like some radiant cloud of morning dew Which wanders through the waste air's pathless blue To nourish some far desert...
Сторінка 145 - Parliament assembled, had, hath, and of right ought to have, full Power and Authority to make Laws and Statutes of sufficient Force and Validity to bind the Colonies and People of America, Subjects of the Crown of Great Britain, in all cases whatsoever.