The Bowdoin PoetsJ. Griffin, 1840 - 188 páginas |
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Página 18
... pines no more , for his own mountain wind , And the old ocean - shore . Rejoice ! rejoice ! How long Should the faint spirit wrestle with its clay , FAREWELL . Fluttering in vain for the far cloudless day 18 POETS . BOWDOIN.
... pines no more , for his own mountain wind , And the old ocean - shore . Rejoice ! rejoice ! How long Should the faint spirit wrestle with its clay , FAREWELL . Fluttering in vain for the far cloudless day 18 POETS . BOWDOIN.
Página 33
... shores are in the twilight sleeping ; Pass we beneath the banner of the brave , Where Scammel o'er the port its watch is keeping . * Match me , ye dwellers in Italia's land , The hues that deck New England's sunset sky ! Ye shores by ...
... shores are in the twilight sleeping ; Pass we beneath the banner of the brave , Where Scammel o'er the port its watch is keeping . * Match me , ye dwellers in Italia's land , The hues that deck New England's sunset sky ! Ye shores by ...
Página 35
... lone fisher - boy upon the billow , Rocked in his wherry boldly rowed from shore , Nor thought how far - he feared no briny pillow- While his eye hailed that star , the dark wave o'er . As is the heart we turn to in our youth.
... lone fisher - boy upon the billow , Rocked in his wherry boldly rowed from shore , Nor thought how far - he feared no briny pillow- While his eye hailed that star , the dark wave o'er . As is the heart we turn to in our youth.
Página 37
... shore , Though there I've seen , of brightest hopes the wreck , what fortune hath in store . And care not now , Though foreign climes should greet my wandering way , Though ' twere my fate to plough the foaming sea , Yet wheresoe'er on ...
... shore , Though there I've seen , of brightest hopes the wreck , what fortune hath in store . And care not now , Though foreign climes should greet my wandering way , Though ' twere my fate to plough the foaming sea , Yet wheresoe'er on ...
Página 45
... shores By sparkling waters laved , ' Mid templed groves , and verdant fields , Where rest night's crystal tears , Which morn lights up like glitt'ring gems , Her fairy touch appears ; On the broad dome spread out above , By starry ...
... shores By sparkling waters laved , ' Mid templed groves , and verdant fields , Where rest night's crystal tears , Which morn lights up like glitt'ring gems , Her fairy touch appears ; On the broad dome spread out above , By starry ...
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Términos y frases comunes
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
Pasajes populares
Página 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.
Página 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...
Página 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...
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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.
Página 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...
Página 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.
Página 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.