Melanie and Other Poems (Google eBook)

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Saunders and Otley, 1837 - American poetry - 242 pages
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Page 89 - Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus — The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh...
Page 53 - Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with me in white: for they are worthy.
Page 172 - When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air. Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, — Whatever tale in the bell is heard, He broods on his folded feet...
Page 214 - I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray...
Page 215 - Play on, play on ; I am with you there, In the midst of your merry ring ; I can feel the thrill of the daring jump, And the rush of the breathless swing. I hide with you in the fragrant hay, And I whoop the smothered call, And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, And I care not for the fall.
Page 81 - Day was breaking When at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chaunt Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof Like an articulate wail, and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. The echoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, Struggling with weakness, and bowed...
Page 148 - Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty Prophet!
Page 198 - And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
Page 194 - Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves, With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems, Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, And leaned in graceful attitudes to rest. How strikingly the course of nature tells, By its light heed of human suffering, That it was fashioned for a happier world!
Page 217 - ... that she could not comprehend, And had not seen before. The purple folds Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky That looked so still and delicate above, Filled her young heart with gladness, and the eve Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still Stood looking at the west with that half smile, As if a pleasant thought were at her heart. " Presently, in the edge of the last tint Of sunset, where the blue was melted in To the faint golden mellowness, a star Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild...

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