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Page 166 - ... came across the eastern deep, Fills the savannas with his murmurings, And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, Within the hollow oak. I listen long To his domestic hum, and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Of Sabbath worshippers.
Page 241 - But the hands that were played By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to see — Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. Then I looked up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh. And said, "Can this be ? We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," And he went for that heathen Chinee.
Page 163 - No — they are all unchained again. The clouds Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase The sunny ridges.
Page 162 - THESE are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no name—- The Prairies.
Page 242 - Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain.
Page 238 - And the evening sun descending Set the clouds on fire with redness, Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, Left upon the level water One long track and trail of...
Page 221 - And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim, To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him. Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see Than the first six months' proceedings of that same Society, Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones. Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare; And Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the...
Page 217 - Till the Union—" See! it opens! — " Father! Father! speak once more! " — " Bless you!"— gasped the old, gray Sergeant, and he lay and said no more!
Page 31 - BEHOLD the rocky wall That down its sloping sides Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall, In rushing river-tides ! Yon stream, whose sources run Turned by a pebble's edge, Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun Through the cleft mountain-ledge. The slender rill had strayed, ~ But for the slanting stone, To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid Of foam-flecked Oregon.