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art thou banners beauty beneath BERNARDO DEL CARPIO blue blue streams bower breast breath breeze bright bright land brow child close and true dark dead death deep dreams dust dwell earth Eolian faded fair falchion Fancy crown farewell father flowers fount gaze gentle glance gleam gloom glorious glory glow gone grave green hath heard heart Heaven hills holy hour joyous Lake of Lucerne land leaves light lone look'd lyre midst mirth mother mountains mournful night o'er pale pass'd prayer rest rills rose round shades shadow shed shining shore silent sleep slumber smile soft solemn song soul sound spear spirit stars strain stranger's heart streams sunny sunny brow sweet sword tears thee thine thou art Thou hast thought tomb tone tree trumpet unto voice wake wanderer wave weep wert wild wind Woice woods wouldst young
Page 88 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!
Page 89 - What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, — The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God ! Felicia Hemans.
Page 85 - Traveller, in the stranger's land, Far from thine own household band ; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath, not leave to dwell ; Sailor, on the darkening sea — Lift the heart and bend the knee...
Page 68 - Give back the lost and lovely ! — those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long ! The prayer went up...
Page 111 - O'er each fair sleeping brow, She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid ; The Indian knows his place of rest Far in the cedar shade.
Page 115 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.
Page 135 - Speak, father," once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 135 - THE boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.
Page 137 - Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre.
Page 194 - midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ? Not there, not there, my child. Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand, Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? Not there, not there, my child.