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aloft beams beauty bird bliss bloom blushing bosom bower brave breast breath breeze bright canna charm Charter Oak cheek dark dark waves dear death deep Deserting hearts dream earth faded fair fathers Fill high flow flowers gale gay bowers gentle gleam gloom glory glow golden perch grief hath heaven hope IANTHE lady life's light lonely look lute maiden Mary mermaid's hair mountain home mourn ne'er never night o'er ocean old oaken bucket pleasure rest rose round Sambo SAMUEL WOODWORTH shade shed shine shore sigh sing skies sleep slumbers smile soft song sorrow sparkling spirit star-spangled banner stars stream sweet tears tempests There's thine eye think of thee thou art thou hast thought tree Twas twill voice wake wander wave weep wild winds wing yankee crew yankee ship youth
Page 100 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At' that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 68 - That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing ! And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well.
Page 105 - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer...
Page 85 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.
Page 232 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Page 233 - Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: "In God is our trust...
Page 67 - How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view...
Page 93 - Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough; In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy ax shall harm it not.
Page 233 - Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave...