Lyrics

Front Cover
A.L. Bancroft & Company, 1881 - 194 pages
0 Reviews
 

What people are saying - Write a review

We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.

Other editions - View all

Common terms and phrases

Popular passages

Page 73 - No drop would be half as pleasant In the mingled draught of life. But the sweetheart has smiles and blushes When the wife has frowns and sighs, And the wife's have a wrathful glitter For the glow of the sweetheart's eyes. If lovers were lovers always — The same to sweetheart and wife, Who would change for a future of Eden The joys of this checkered life? But husbands grow grave and silent, And care on the anxious brow Oft replaces the sunshine that perished With the words of the marriage vow. Happy...
Page 74 - Happy is he whose sweetheart Is wife and sweetheart still: Whose voice, as of old, can charm, Whose kiss, as of old, can thrill. Who has plucked the rose to find ever Its beauty and fragrance increase, As the flush of passion is mellowed In love's unmeasured peace. Who sees in the step a lightness; Who finds in the form a grace; Who reads an unaltered brightness In the witchery of the face, Undimmed and unchanged.
Page 148 - ... berries That grace the woods in July, Tenderly train the roses, Gathering here and there A bud — the richest and rarest — For a place in their long, dark hair. Fee'ble and garrulous old men Tell, in the Spanish tongue, Of the good, grand times at the Mission, And the hymns that the Fathers sung. Of the oil and the wine and the plenty, And the dance in the twilight gray — "Ah! these," and the head shakes sadly, "Were good times in Monterey.
Page 190 - ... sky And fades at evening in the crimson west, Though grand at noon its luster to the eye, Its last light is the fairest and the best. And thus our love. In its meridian heat, In all the warmth of its noontide power, Has never seemed so dear, so sadly sweet, As in the twilight of this parting hour. And now, farewell ! Night may give place to dawn, And birds sing on, and autumn crown the land; But what care we when you, our friend, are gone, And but the last clasp of your faithful hand Left as...
Page 147 - Where pebbles and sounding sea-shells Are gathered by children's hands. Women, with olive faces, And the liquid southern eye, Dark as the forest berries That grace the woods in July. Tenderly train the roses, Gathering here and there A bud— the richest and rarest — For a place in their long, dark hair. Feeble and garrulous old men Tell, in the Spanish tongue, Of the good, grand times at the Mission, And the hymns that the Fathers sung; Of the oil and the wine, and the...
Page 51 - Oh, pebbly beach ! The low, sweet words that softly break— The thoughts too full for common speech.— The round, soft hand that lay within The brown, broad palm, that burned and clung— The heart that strove a heart to win, While meadows waved and robins sung. The memories of a golden day— Of fresh spring flowers, of sun and lake— Of all she would, yet could not say, Of all I would, yet could not take— Are green this autumn, though the trees Have lost the bloom they wore and waved, Though...
Page 52 - ... and laved. The corn then peeped above the sod In unripe beauty, fresh and cool; The cautious angler swung his rod. Above the purple-shadowed pool. To-day the harvest-fields are bare ; The clover hues are gray and dead ; The meadow-grass, where lurked the hare, Is gathered to the farmer's shed.— The mottled fowl float on the lake, The ripples murmur in the reeds, The quail pipes in the sheltered brake, The minnow darts among the weeds.— The sky is clear; the air is pure, And all is sweet as...
Page 50 - H summer day ! Oh smiling lake ! Oh, plash of wave ! Oh, pebbly beach ! The low, sweet words that softly break— The thoughts too full for common speech.— The round, soft hand that lay within The brown, broad palm, that burned and clung— The heart that strove a heart to win, While meadows waved and robins sung. The memories of a golden day— Of fresh spring flowers, of sun and lake— Of all she would, yet could not say, Of all I would, yet could not take— Are green this autumn, though the...
Page 111 - Told half so well of tempest and loss, As the lives that could never be one again. Though the hot hands clung, and though palms were pressed, 'Twas the dark, sad ending, just begun— The dawn of grief, with the sinking sun, And the chill of the grave on lips caressed. ****** The shadows were gone, and the chain and spar Were washed and hid by the rising foam; The...
Page 146 - IN a mantle of old traditions, In the rime of a vanished day, The shrouded and silent city Sits by her crescent bay. The ruined fort on the hilltop Where never a bunting streams, Looks down, a cannonless fortress, On the solemn city of dreams. Gardens of wonderful roses, Climbing o'er roof...

Bibliographic information