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 (Google eBook)

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Marsh, Capen & Lyon, 1837 - Literary Criticism - 408 pages
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Page 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.
Page 20 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ; They have left unstained what there they found Freedom to worship God.
Page 347 - 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.
Page 24 - The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He lies where pearls lie deep, He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep.
Page 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.
Page 36 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at. the north-wind's breath, And stars to set but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.
Page 164 - 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.
Page 58 - How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing So late, along the mountains, at my side ? And I, in joyous pride, By every place of flowers my course delaying Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair, Beholding thee so fair!
Page 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...
Page 163 - With soaring up so high ; Will you rest upon my little bed?" Said the Spider to the Fly. " There are pretty curtains drawn around ; The sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!

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