The Ladies' Wreath: A Selection from the Female Poetic Writers of England and America : with Original Notices and Notes : Prepared Especially for Young Ladies : a Gift Book for All Seasons

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Marsh, Capen & Lyon, 1837 - 408 стор.
Pt. 2. American authors: Lydia Huntley Sigourney -- Hannah F. Gould -- Emma C. Embury -- Anna Maria Wells -- Sarah Louisa P. Smith -- Lucretia Maria Davidson -- Frances Sargent Osgood -- Anna Peyre Dinnies -- Sarah Helen Whitman -- Caroline Gilman -- Elizabeth F. Ellet -- Sarah Josepha Hale.

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Сторінка 355 - She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to Poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
Сторінка 36 - We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain — But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? — They have one season — all are ours to die...
Сторінка 52 - Her lot is on you !— to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain ; Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And oh ! to love through all things— therefore pray...
Сторінка 19 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Сторінка 115 - DOWN in a green and shady bed, A modest violet grew, Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.
Сторінка 54 - I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth, The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the rein-deer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the pine has a fringe of softer green, And the moss looks bright, where my foot hath been.
Сторінка 166 - I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome — will you please to take a slice ? " " Oh, no, no," said the little fly, " kind sir, that cannot be ; I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.
Сторінка 160 - I'll tell you all, my mother, But let me have my way. "And some they played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill; "'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man shall the miller be By the dawning of the day!
Сторінка 55 - ... and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly ! With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine — I may not stay. Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, The waters are sparkling in grove and glen ! Away from the chamber and sullen hearth, ( The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth ! Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, And youth is abroad in my green domains...
Сторінка 54 - I come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song ; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass.

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