Scottish Poets in America: With Biographical and Critical Notices

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Pagan & Ross, 1889 - American poetry - 218 pages

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Page 172 - It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century ; — But better far it is to speak One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men...
Page 178 - We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most — feels the noblest — acts the best.
Page 173 - Oh ! the wasted hours of life, that have swiftly drifted by, Alas ! the good we might have done, all gone without a sigh ; Love that we might once have saved by a single kindly word, Thoughts conceived but ne'er expressed, perishing unpenned, unheard. Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast, " The mill will never grind again with water that is past.
Page 173 - As on the field the reapers sing, while binding up the sheaves ! A solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast, " The mill will never grind again with water that is past.
Page 58 - But oh, it's dowier far to see The wa'-gang o' her the heart gangs wi', The dead-set o' a shinin' e'e, That darkens the weary warld on thee.
Page 20 - Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, And worthily becomes his silver locks; He wears the marks of many years well spent, Of virtue, truth well tried, and wise experience; A friend like this would suit my sorrows well.
Page 90 - Here too dwells simple truth ; plain innocence ; Unsullied beauty ; sound unbroken youth, Patient of labour, with a little pleased ; Health ever blooming ; unambitious toil ; Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.
Page 125 - Read from some humbler poet. Whose songs gushed from his heart. As showers from the clouds of summer. Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor.
Page 156 - Tis_her herald, the lark, That's singing afar in the blue. Its happy heart's rushing, In strains wildly gushing, That reach to the revelling earth, And sink through the deeps Of the soul, till it leaps Into raptures far deeper than mirth. All nature's in keeping The live streams are leaping And laughing in gladness along, The great hills are heaving, The dark clouds are leaving, The valleys have burst into song. We'll range through the dells Of the bonnie...
Page 153 - And the daisy deck'd with pearls, Richer than the proudest Earls On their mantles wear. These thy preachers of the wild-wood, Keep they not the heart of childhood, Fresh within us still. Spite of all our life's sad story, There are gleams of Thee and glory, In the daffodil.

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