American Poems, 1625-1892: Selected and Edited, with Illustrative and Explanatory Notes and a Bibliography

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Walter Cochrane Bronson
University of Chicago Press, 1912 - 669 стор.
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Сторінка 552 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his 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.
Сторінка 503 - 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 burnished rows of steel ; ' As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
Сторінка 373 - AY, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck once red with heroes...
Сторінка 219 - 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
Сторінка 460 - For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
Сторінка 536 - SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
Сторінка 554 - These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : 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...
Сторінка 234 - 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.
Сторінка 220 - thing of evil! prophet still, if bird" or devil! Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!
Сторінка 177 - 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.

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