Songs of the Sierras (Google eBook)

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Longmans, Green, Reader, and Dyer, 1871 - American poetry - 301 pages
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Page 297 - In men whom men condemn as ill I find so much of goodness still, In men whom men pronounce divine I find so much of sin and blot, I hesitate to draw a line Between the two, where God has not.
Page 1 - And I have said, and I say it ever, As the years go on and the world goes over, 'Twere better to be content and clever In tending of cattle and tossing of clover, In the grazing of cattle and the growing of grain, Than a strong man striving for fame or gain...
Page 31 - A remnant of that early few Who held no crime or curse or vice As dark as that of cowardice; With blendings of the worst and best Of faults and virtues that have blest Or cursed or thrilled the human breast.
Page 28 - twas this that made me seek, Disguised, his grave one winter-tide ; A weakness for the weaker side, A siding with the helpless weak.
Page 29 - Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears; One bloom of crimson crowned its head, A drop of blood, so bright, so red, Yet redolent as roses
Page 6 - I lay in my hammock : the air was heavy And hot and threat'ning ; the very heaven Was holding its breath ; and bees in a bevy Hid under my thatch ; and birds were driven In clouds to the rocks in a hurried whirr As I peer'd down by the path for her ; She stood like a bronze- bent over the river, The proud eyes fix'd, the passion unspoken, When the heavens...
Page 191 - Pis midnight now. The bent and broken moon, Batter'd and black, as from a thousand battles, Hangs silent on the purple walls of heaven. The angel warrior, guard of the gates eternal, In battle-harness girt, sleeps on the field ; But when to-morrow comes, when wicked men, That fret the patient earth, are all astir, He will resume his shield, and facing earthward, The gates of heaven guard from sins of earth. 'Tis morn.
Page 79 - ... his gory master lies. The cloud is lifting like a veil, But underneath its drifting sail I see a loose and black capote In careless heed far fly and float, So vulture-like above a steed Of perfect mould and passing speed. Here lies a man of giant mould, His mighty right arm, perfect bare Save but its sable coat of hair, Is clutching in its iron clasp A clump of sage, as if to hold The earth from slipping from his grasp ; While, stealing from his brow, a stain Of purple blood and gory brain Yields...
Page 33 - Or droop'd in curved lines dreamily, Rainbows reversed, from tree to tree, Or sang low-hanging overhead Sang low, as if they sang and slept, Sang faint, like some far waterfall, And took no note of us at all, Though nuts that in the way were spread Did crush and crackle as we stept.
Page 125 - His daughter sat with her sad face Bent on the wave, with her two hands Held tightly to the dripping oar; And as she sat, her dimpled knee Bent lithe as wand or willow tree, So round and full, so rich and free, That no one would have ever known That it had either joint or bone.

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