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Page 182 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Page 168 - For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime 's by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this weak flower Poison hath residence and medicine power : For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Page 195 - No go' - by land or ocean No mail - no post No news from any foreign coast No Park - no Ring - no afternoon gentility No company - no nobility No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
Page 97 - Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.
Page 195 - No sun - no moon! No morn - no noon No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day No sky - no earthly view No distance looking blue No road - no street - no 't'other side the way...
Page 71 - Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader browner shade; Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade...
Page 44 - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast...