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Abencerrage appeared arms beautiful Black Maria boat bosom Boston Rover brave old world called Captain child cried dark daugh Deacon dead dear death door earth Eugene Sue exclaimed eyes face father fear feel feet fell felt fire girl give half hand Hannah head heard heart heaven hope horse hour Indians Jack Wilson knew lady light live look marriage ment mind Mocha Dick morning mother never night Norridgewock once Onesiphorus passed Penobscot bay poor replied rose round Rover Sally scene Seba Smith seemed seen side smile soon spirit Stephen Girard stood surprize tears tell Thamyris Thecla thee thing thou thought tion told took turned village voice walk wife wild wind woman words young Zeph Zephaniah
Page 207 - Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there...
Page 207 - TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that ST. NICHOLAS soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced...
Page 207 - And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot...
Page 207 - He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf — And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
Page 199 - WE watched her breathing through the night Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came, dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours.
Page 138 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Page 138 - In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
Page 378 - Above the lowly plants it towers, The fennel, with its yellow flowers, And in an earlier age than ours ^ Was gifted with the wondrous powers, Lost vision to restore. It gave new strength, and fearless mood ; And gladiators, fierce and rude, Mingled it in their daily food ; And he who battled and subdued, A wreath of fennel wore.