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andirons barn beat beneath birch bitter bloom blow breath calling loud calm chill circle cock cold corn cruel Curled dark dazzling deign District door dream drift dull eyes faith feet Fire fishing Flashed flowers glow grave gray grew hand haply hath head heard heart Heaven held hills hillside hoary homespun horn IDYL JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER laid lash laughing light logs lonely look Lord's lore love's content low green marvel merry mingled moon morning Muse mute Nature's never night north-wind o'er oars Occult outward oxen paths prompt prophecy Quaker ravine roar round roused saintly sank From sight scarce scythe seemed shake sharp shone shore Shut simple Slavery's snow SNOW-BOUND sweet teamsters thee thou thought toil told tost tread trumpet Unwarmed violin voice wall warm where'er Wherein Whereof wind winter woman born wood zone
Page 21 - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own!
Page 14 - With dazzling crystal: we had read Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours To test his lamp's supernal powers. 80 We reached the barn with merry din, And roused the prisoned brutes within.
Page 27 - In moons and tides and weather wise, He read the clouds as prophecies, And foul or fair could well divine, By many an occult hint and sign, Holding the cunning-warded keys...
Page 17 - ... near, We watched the first red blaze appear, Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, Until the old, rude-furnished room...
Page 10 - Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout Of homespun stuff, could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told.
Page 15 - The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
Page 19 - And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed; The house-dog on his paws outspread Laid to the fire his drowsy head, The cat's dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons' straddling feet, The mug of cider simmered slow.
Page 19 - How strange it seems, with so much gone Of life and love, to still live on ! Ah, brother ! only I and thou Are left of all that circle now, — The dear home faces whereupon That fitful firelight paled and shone. Henceforward, listen as we will, The voices of that hearth are still ; Look where we may, the wide earth o'er Those lighted faces smile no more.