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amid arms bear beauty beneath bird bloom blossoms blue breath bright bring brook Bryant called calm clouds cold comes dark death deep dost dwell early earth edition eyes face fair fall fear fields flowers forest gathered gentle glad glorious glory grave green hand hast hear heart heaven hills hour Hymn Italy land leaves light Literary Gazette living look March meet mighty morning mountain murmur never night o'er once pass path peace poems published rest Review rise river rock round shade shining shore side sight silent sleep smile snow soft song sound spirit spring stand stars stream strong summer sweet tears thee thine thou thought till trees vale voice walk wandering watch waters waves wind woods written York young youth
Page 26 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 79 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
Page 20 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings...
Page xvi - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
Page lxxx - All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Page 230 - Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes ; Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee.
Page 81 - Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die; but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms.
Page 23 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 20 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And gentle sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.