Leatherstocking to Poe's "Raven."

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C. Scribner's sons, 1899
 

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Seite 354 - Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low- vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
Seite 26 - MY life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close Is scattered on the ground— to die. Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see, — But none shall weep a tear for me...
Seite 336 - You have no authority to throw the rights and liberties and property of this people into " hotch-pot " with the wild men on the Missouri, nor with the mixed, though more respectable, race of AngloHispano-Gallo-Americans who bask on the sands in the mouth of the Mississippi.
Seite 322 - And, round and round, over valley and hill, Old roads winding, as old roads will, Here to a ferry, and there to a mill; And glimpses of chimneys and gabled eaves, Through green elm arches and maple leaves, Old homesteads sacred to all that can Gladden or sadden the heart of man, Over whose thresholds of oak and stone Life and Death have come and gone...
Seite 100 - 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 148 - Here I sit and read and write, with very little system, and, as far as regards composition, with the most fragmentary result : paragraphs incompressible, each sentence an infinitely repellent particle.
Seite 100 - 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 322 - Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, A stone's toss over the narrow sound. Inland, as far as the eye can go, The hills curve round like a bended bow; A silver arrow from out them sprung...
Seite 286 - Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart.
Seite 17 - To restore herself to her caste, let a lady move in select company at five miles an hour, and take her meals in comfort at a good inn, where she may dine decently.

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