Poems and Prose Writings

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Marshall, Clark and Company, 1833 - American literature - 450 pages
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Page 102 - Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality...
Page 136 - Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, As driven by a beating storm at sea ; Thy cry is weak and scared, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us : Thy wail — What does it bring to me...
Page 137 - A requiem o'er the dead, From out thy gloomy cells A tale of mourning tells — Tells of man's woe and fall, His sinless glory fled.
Page 91 - The rill is tuneless to his ear, who feels No harmony within ; the south wind steals As silent, as unseen among the leaves. Who has no inward beauty, none perceives; Though all around is beautiful.
Page 138 - Canst thou grow sad, thou say'st, as earth grows bright ? And sigh, when little birds begin discourse In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light Pours on their nests, from out the day's fresh source ? With creatures innocent thou must perforce A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure. And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse, Of ills and pains of life must be the cure, And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure.
Page 148 - He said that upon opening Wordsworth a thousand springs seemed to gush up at once in his heart, and the face of nature of a sudden to change into a strange freshness and life.
Page 21 - Into the chambers of the deep. I see the dead, long, long forgot; I see them in their sleep. A dreadful power is mine, which none can know, Save he who leagues his soul with death and wo.
Page 425 - Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night...
Page 1 - THE island lies nine leagues away. Along its solitary shore, Of craggy rock and sandy bay, No sound but ocean's roar, Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. But when the light winds lie at rest, And on the glassy, heaving sea, The black duck, with her glossy breast, Sits swinging silently; How beautiful ! no ripples break the reach, And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.

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