The Bowdoin PoetsJ. Griffin, 1840 - 188 Seiten |
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Seite 4
... of the bosom's secret strife ! Emblem of all the heart can love ! Vision of all that's bright above ! Pledge , promise of remember'd years ! Seal of pure souls , yet bought with tears ! TO ΑΝ INFANT . Hail ! CHILD OF LOVE !
... of the bosom's secret strife ! Emblem of all the heart can love ! Vision of all that's bright above ! Pledge , promise of remember'd years ! Seal of pure souls , yet bought with tears ! TO ΑΝ INFANT . Hail ! CHILD OF LOVE !
Seite 6
... heart that mocks despair ; Consumption's fires to burn thy cheek ; The brain that throbs , but will not break ; The ... hearts beguiled ; Of Passion's ministers who sway With iron sceptre , all who stray ; Of broken hearts - still loving ...
... heart that mocks despair ; Consumption's fires to burn thy cheek ; The brain that throbs , but will not break ; The ... hearts beguiled ; Of Passion's ministers who sway With iron sceptre , all who stray ; Of broken hearts - still loving ...
Seite 7
... heart is cold , Warped , sickened , seared , with woes untold . And be it so ! the clouds which roll Dark , heavy o'er my troubled soul , Bring with them lightnings which illume , To shroud the mind in deeper gloom ! But no ! dear boy ...
... heart is cold , Warped , sickened , seared , with woes untold . And be it so ! the clouds which roll Dark , heavy o'er my troubled soul , Bring with them lightnings which illume , To shroud the mind in deeper gloom ! But no ! dear boy ...
Seite 8
... thy morn ! That death's stern hand would sweep away The flower just springing to the day ! But wounded hearts , must still bleed on ! Enough , enough - GOD'S WILL BE DONE ! THE TROUBADOUR . BY FREDERIC MELLEN . * He leaned 8 BOWDOIN POETS .
... thy morn ! That death's stern hand would sweep away The flower just springing to the day ! But wounded hearts , must still bleed on ! Enough , enough - GOD'S WILL BE DONE ! THE TROUBADOUR . BY FREDERIC MELLEN . * He leaned 8 BOWDOIN POETS .
Seite 9
... tone Seem'd like the echo of some spirit's moan . Lady ! the dark long night Of grief and sorrow , That knows no cheerful light , No sun - bright morrow , Is gathering round my heart , In gloom and tears The Troubadour.
... tone Seem'd like the echo of some spirit's moan . Lady ! the dark long night Of grief and sorrow , That knows no cheerful light , No sun - bright morrow , Is gathering round my heart , In gloom and tears The Troubadour.
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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.