The Bowdoin PoetsJ. Griffin, 1840 - 188 Seiten |
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Seite 14
... trust . But suddenly a change was on his face , And then he paced the room in agony At one dark thought , ' Twas not that he must die ; But that he should not die a soldier's death : ANDRE . Alas , and shall she hear it , 14 POETS .
... trust . But suddenly a change was on his face , And then he paced the room in agony At one dark thought , ' Twas not that he must die ; But that he should not die a soldier's death : ANDRE . Alas , and shall she hear it , 14 POETS .
Seite 15
Edward Payson Weston. ANDRE . Alas , and shall she hear it , that bright one That ever saw him in her dreams , rise up Like the young eagle to the sun ? * * * * * 15 The morning came , And he stood up to die ; -the beautiful And brave ...
Edward Payson Weston. ANDRE . Alas , and shall she hear it , that bright one That ever saw him in her dreams , rise up Like the young eagle to the sun ? * * * * * 15 The morning came , And he stood up to die ; -the beautiful And brave ...
Seite 21
... all do pass , gentle and poor , The gayest and the gravest , all alike— Then turn into the peaceful woods , and hear The thrilling music of the forest birds . How rich the varied choir . The unquiet finch Calls The Notes of the Birds.
... all do pass , gentle and poor , The gayest and the gravest , all alike— Then turn into the peaceful woods , and hear The thrilling music of the forest birds . How rich the varied choir . The unquiet finch Calls The Notes of the Birds.
Seite 22
... chant . I love to hear , Bold plunderer ! thy mellow burst of song Float from thy watch - place on the mossy tree Close at the corn - field edge . THE NOTES OF THE BIRDS . Lone Whippoorwill ! There 22 BOWDOIN POETS .
... chant . I love to hear , Bold plunderer ! thy mellow burst of song Float from thy watch - place on the mossy tree Close at the corn - field edge . THE NOTES OF THE BIRDS . Lone Whippoorwill ! There 22 BOWDOIN POETS .
Seite 23
... hear thee chant Thy hollow dirge , like some recluse who takes His lodging in the wilderness of woods , 23 And lifts his anthem when the world is still : And the dim , solemn night , that brings to man And to the herds , deep slumbers ...
... hear thee chant Thy hollow dirge , like some recluse who takes His lodging in the wilderness of woods , 23 And lifts his anthem when the world is still : And the dim , solemn night , that brings to man And to the herds , deep slumbers ...
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
answering tone Autumn beam beauty beneath bloom bosom bowers breast breath bright brow Brunswick calm CHARLES H clouds cold COVENANTERS dark dead death deep dream earth fair faith Farewell fears fled flowers flowers of Eden foaming path fragrant friends gaze gentle GEORGE F gleam gloom glory grave green hath haunts heart heaven HENRY W hope hour infant ISAAC M'LELLAN joyous leaves life's light live alway lonely memory morning mother mournful ne'er neath night numbered o'er o'er thy ocean old time loved passed prayer proud repose rest ROBERT WYMAN rolling round rushing Samuel Thatcher SEBA SMITH shore sigh silent skies sleep slumbers smile soft song sorrow soul spirit star stern storm stream strife sweet swell tears tempest's thee thine thou art thought throng tread trembling Twas virgin train voice wave weep wild wing wintry wind withering woods youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 31 - White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace ; The mist-like banners clasped the air, As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. Down the broad valley, fast and far, The troubled army fled ; Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead.
Seite 2 - Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds...
Seite 139 - When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight...
Seite 30 - I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, TTiere stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.
Seite 140 - And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies.
Seite 179 - Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Seite 141 - Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. O, though oft depressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died ! FLOWERS.
Seite 139 - Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more; He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life! They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with...
Seite 26 - The babe was sleeping on her breast. And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifting snow : Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone. " O God ! " she cried in accents wild, " If I must perish, save my child ! " She stripped her mantle from her breast, And bared her bosom to the storm.
Seite 24 - Gray watcher of the waters ! Thou art king Of the blue lake ; and all the winged kind Do fear the echo of thine angry cry. How bright thy savage eye ! Thou lookest down, And seest the shining fishes as they glide ; And poising thy gray wing, thy glossy beak Swift as an arrow strikes its roving prey.