Pocahontas, Princess of Virginia: And Other Poems

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Dean & Trevett, 1841 - American poetry - 108 pages
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Page 88 - There is a world above Where parting is unknown, A long eternity of love, Formed for the good alone. And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that glorious
Page 10 - He sat where festal bowls went round, He heard the minstrel sing, He saw the tourney's victor crowned Amidst the knightly ring; A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain, A voice of winds that would not sleep, He never smiled again.
Page 1 - The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence : that which fate Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, First exiles then replaces, what we hate ; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.
Page 88 - Friend after friend departs ; Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end.
Page 56 - and now in the games of chivalry, where beauty dealt the prize which valor won, all is now desolate. The bed of the lake is but a rushy swamp, and the massy ruins of the castle only serve to show what their splendor once was, and to impress on the musing
Page 46 - had striven, And true ones died with her— We saw her mighty cable riven, Like floating gossamer. We saw her proud flag struck that morn, A star once o'er the seas— Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn, And sadder things than
Page 68 - is it not a comfort even while you mourn, to think of all that that breast, now so silent, has escaped ? The cream, the sparkle, the elixir of life it had already quaffed; is it not sweet to think it shunned the wormwood and the dregs? Answer me, even though the answer be in
Page 86 - Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth ; for the faithful fail from among the children of men."—Ps. xii.
Page 13 - Elysian. Soft, as the memory of buried love ; Pure as the prayer which childhood wafts above ; Was she, the daughter of that rude old chief.
Page 76 - All the stars are glowing In the gorgeous sky, In the stream scarce flowing Mimic lustres lie. Blow gentle, gentle breeze, But bring no cloud to hide Their dear resplendencies, Nor

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