Golden Leaves from the American Poets |
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Page xii
... ..... 191 192 193 194 .......... • 195 ...... 198 ......... 201 203 204 20 200 210 211 .................. 213 REV . WILLIAM CROSWELL , D. D. The Clouds .......... WILLIAM PITt Palmer . Lines to a Chrysalis ... MARY 2 : CONTENTS .
... ..... 191 192 193 194 .......... • 195 ...... 198 ......... 201 203 204 20 200 210 211 .................. 213 REV . WILLIAM CROSWELL , D. D. The Clouds .......... WILLIAM PITt Palmer . Lines to a Chrysalis ... MARY 2 : CONTENTS .
Page 18
... ? O my loved babe ! my treasures left behind Ne'er sunk a cloud of grief upon my mind ; Rich in my children , on my arms I bore 18 GOLDEN LEAVES ANNE ELIZA BLEEKER On the Death of her Child at the Retreat from Burgoyne (1777)
... ? O my loved babe ! my treasures left behind Ne'er sunk a cloud of grief upon my mind ; Rich in my children , on my arms I bore 18 GOLDEN LEAVES ANNE ELIZA BLEEKER On the Death of her Child at the Retreat from Burgoyne (1777)
Page 47
... blast ; And he sped through the air like a meteor swift , While the clouds , wand'ring by him , did fearfully drift To the right and the left as he passed . Now suddenly sloping his hurricane flight , With an eddying ALLSTON .
... blast ; And he sped through the air like a meteor swift , While the clouds , wand'ring by him , did fearfully drift To the right and the left as he passed . Now suddenly sloping his hurricane flight , With an eddying ALLSTON .
Page 49
... sat without peer ; Her robe was a gleam of the first blush of light , Ana her mantle the fleece of a noon - cloud white , And a beam of the moon was her spear . In an accent that stole on the still , charmed ALLSTON .
... sat without peer ; Her robe was a gleam of the first blush of light , Ana her mantle the fleece of a noon - cloud white , And a beam of the moon was her spear . In an accent that stole on the still , charmed ALLSTON .
Page 54
... cloud , Is seen , and then withdrawn . The Pilgrim exile - sainted name ! — The hill , whose icy brow Rejoiced , when he came , in the morning's flame , In the morning's flame burns now . And the moon's cold light , as it lay that night ...
... cloud , Is seen , and then withdrawn . The Pilgrim exile - sainted name ! — The hill , whose icy brow Rejoiced , when he came , in the morning's flame , In the morning's flame burns now . And the moon's cold light , as it lay that night ...
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Common terms and phrases
ANNABEL Lee beauty bells beneath bird bless blest blood blue bosom brave breast breath breeze bright brow burning charms cloud cold courser dark dead death deep dream earth fair fairy falchion fire flame floating flowers gaze gleam glorious glory glow golden grave green hand hast Hasty Pudding hath heart heaven HELON hills holy hour land leaves light lips living lonely look lyre maize moon morning never Nevermore night nursling o'er old oaken bucket pale passed prayer Quoth the Raven rapture rock roll round shade shadow Shammar shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring star-spangled banner stars storm stream sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thought throne toil towers tread tree Twas twill voice water-sprites wave WHIP-POOR-WILL wild wind wing witch-hazel youth
Popular passages
Page 84 - 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.
Page 292 - 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. 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.
Page 249 - But the Raven still beguiling All my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in Front of bird and bust and door ; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking
Page 86 - All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Page 84 - 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...
Page 278 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts: The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!
Page 246 - I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;— vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.
Page 94 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 94 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 86 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.