America

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1879
 

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Seite 10 - Oh, spare that aged oak Now towering to the skies! When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here; My father pressed my hand— Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand. My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild-bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave! And, woodman, leave the spot; While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm...
Seite 169 - Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on a log of wood And saw a thing surprising. As in amaze he stood to gaze, The truth can't be denied, sir, He spied a score of kegs or more Come floating down the tide, sir. A sailor too in jerkin blue, This strange appearance viewing, First damned his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, “Some mischief's brewing.
Seite 9 - Woodman, spare that tree ! Touch not a single bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea — And wouldst thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties ; Oh, spare that aged oak Now towering to the skies ! When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their...
Seite 80 - Tis the middle watch of a summer's night — The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright : Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cronest, She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below...
Seite 130 - And Syracusan times, — to these Far shores and twenty centuries later. A ragged cap was on his head; But — hidden thus — there was no doubting That, all with crispy locks o'erspread, His gnarled horns were somewhere sprouting; His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes, Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them, And trousers, patched of divers hues, Concealed his crooked shanks beneath them.
Seite 151 - Round about the Indian village Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, And beyond them stood the forest, Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, Green in Summer, white in Winter, Ever sighing, ever singing.
Seite 251 - Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes His leave, how might you the flamingo see Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : And every sound of life was full of glee, From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men ; While hearkening, fearing nought their revelry, The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then, Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.
Seite 78 - Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
Seite 76 - Daddy" — begged he'd disclose The name of the tailor who made his clothes, And what was the value he set on those ; While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, Stood there picking the rebels off — With his long brown rifle, and bell-crown hat, And the swallow-tails they were laughing at.
Seite 169 - The soldier flew, the sailor too, And scared almost to death, sir, Wore out their shoes to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sir. Now up and down, throughout the town, Most frantic scenes were acted ; And some ran here and others there, Like men almost distracted. Some fire...

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