The Poets and Poetry of America: With an Historical Introduction (Google eBook)
Rufus Wilmot Griswold
Carey and Hart, 1842 - American poetry - 468 pages
One of the most important American poetry anthologies of the nineteenth century, including the works of nearly every major and minor poet of the day, selected by Edgar Allan Poe's future literary executor, and rarely encountered in the correct first printing. Poets included are Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, Holmes, Bryant, Emerson, Jones Very, William Gilmore Simms, Christopher P. Cranch, Richard Henry Dana, and an impressive selection of female poets now mostly forgotten: Sigourney, Gould, Brooks, Mrs. Seba Smith, Hall, Embury, Ellett, Dinnies, Welby, Hooper, Davidson.
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beam beauty beneath bird bless bosom breast breath breeze bright brow charm cheek clouds cold Connecticut dark dead death deep dread dream earth fair fame fear feel flame flowers friends gaze gentle glorious glory glow grace grave green Greenfield Hill hand Harvard College hast hath hear heart heaven hills holy hour land leaves life's light lips living lone look look'd lyre maize Massachusetts morning mountains muse ne'er never night Norridgewock o'er pale pass'd Phi Beta Kappa poems poet prayer pride rapture rills Rosaline round scene seem'd seraph shade shine shore sigh silent skies sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sublime sweet swell Sylph tears tempest thee thine thou art thought throne tomb tree voice wake wandering wave wild wind wings Yale College youth Zophiel
Page 312 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Page 139 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost, All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 313 - This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice, That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice...
Page 139 - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Page 358 - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
Page 139 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 131 - To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
Page 151 - Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Page 312 - Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done. Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! ENDYMION.