Songs of Many Seasons : 1862-1874

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James R. Osgood, 1875 - 216 pages
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Page 9 - Soft is the breath of a maiden's YES: Not the light gossamer stirs with less; But never a cable that holds so fast Through all the battles of wave and blast, And never an echo of speech or song That lives in the babbling air so long ! There were tones in the voice that whispered then You may hear to-day in a hundred men.
Page 4 - ... and I Will steal an hour from days gone by, ->. The shining days when life was new, And all was bright with morning dew, — The lusty days of long ago, When you were Bill and I was Joe. Your name may flaunt a titled trail Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail, And mine as brief appendix wear As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare ; To-day, old friend, remember still That I am Joe and you are Bill. You 've won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyes, With HON.
Page 167 - FAST as the rolling seasons bring The hour of fate to those we love, Each pearl that leaves the broken string Is set in Friendship's crown above. As narrower grows the earthly chain, The circle widens in the sky ; These are our treasures that remain, But those are stars that beam on high.
Page 5 - While Joe sits smiling at his side; How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, — Those calm, stern eyes, that melt and fill As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame ? A fitful tongue of leaping flame; A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, That lifts a pinch of mortal dust; A few swift years, and who can show • Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?
Page 37 - What have I rescued from the shelf ? A Boswell, writing out himself ! For though he changes dress and name, The man beneath is still the same, Laughing or sad, by fits and starts, One actor in a dozen parts, And whatsoe'er the mask may be, The voice assures us, This is he.
Page 66 - Bleak are our shores with the blasts of December, Fettered and chill is the rivulet's flow; Throbbing and warm are the hearts that remember Who was our friend when the world was our foe.
Page 192 - For all the blessings life has brought, For all its sorrowing hours have taught, For all we mourn, for all we keep, The hands we clasp, the loved that sleep...
Page 30 - Howe'er we trust to mortal things, Each hath its pair of folded wings; Though long their terrors rest unspread Their fatal plumes are never shed; At last, at last, they stretch in flight. And blot the day and blast the night...
Page 8 - O Damsel Dorothy ! Dorothy Q. ! Strange is the gift that I owe to you; Such a gift as never a king Save to daughter or son might bring...
Page 5 - How Bill forgets his hour of pride, While Joe sits smiling at his side ; How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, — Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame...

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