Buds and Blossoms from Our Own Garden

Burnett & Bostwick, 1854 - 227 Seiten

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Seite 141 - And nimbly went their toes. Witness those rings and roundelays Of theirs, which yet remain, Were footed in Queen Mary's days On many a grassy plain ; But since of late Elizabeth, And later, James came in, They never danced on any heath As when the time hath been.
Seite 23 - The mind is its own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
Seite 69 - STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove ! Thy daily visits have touched my love ! I watch thy coming, and list the note That stirs so low in thy mellow throat, And my joy is high To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves ? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet ? How canst thou bear This noise of people — this...
Seite 71 - When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air, Filling the spirit with tones of prayer, — Whatever tale in the bell is heard, He broods on his folded feet...
Seite 70 - Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note, And the trembling throb in its mottled throat ; There's a human look in its swelling breast, And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ; And I often stop with the fear I feel, He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell, Chime of the hour, or funeral knell, The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, When the clock strikes clear at morning light,...
Seite 70 - THE cross-beam under the Old South bell The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air: I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet; And I often watch him as he springs. Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfry edge is gained at last.
Seite 70 - On the cross beam under the Old South Bell, The nest of a pigeon is builded well. In summer and winter that bird is there, Out and in with the morning air.
Seite 142 - Their dances were procession. But now, alas ! they all are dead, Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fled, Or else they take their ease.
Seite 187 - Oh, mother! do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose ; I wish he'd come into the parlor, and see How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-dcde." The bird had flown down for some pieces of bread, And heard every word little Emily said ; " What a figure I'd make in that dress !" thought he; And he laughed as he warbled his chlck-a-de-dc.
Seite 71 - Or, rising half in his rounded nest, He takes the time to smooth his breast ; Then drops again, with filmed eyes, And sleeps as the last vibration dies. Sweet bird ! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd like thee ! With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men ; And daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street ; But, unlike me, when day is o'er, Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar ; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers...

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