Comentarios de la gente - Escribir un comentario
No encontramos ningún comentario en los lugares habituales.
Otras ediciones - Ver todas
bear beauty bird bless blue breast breath bright brow child clear dark dead death deep depart dreams dwell earth face fair Father fear flow flowers gaze give glance gleam glorious glory glow gone grave green hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hills holy hope hour Italy land leaves light living lone look meet memory midst mighty mountain never night o'er once pale pass pass'd past prayer proud pure rest rich rise rose round scene shade shadow shed shore shrine silent skies sleep smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars strain stream strong sweet swell tears tell thee thine things Thou art Thou hast thought tomb tone tree unto voice wake waves wild wind woods young
Página 124 - When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame. Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear: — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Página 185 - O'er each fair sleeping brow, She had each folded flower in sight — Where are those dreamers now? One midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream, is laid ; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.
Página 124 - What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod; They have left unstained what there they found,— Freedom to worship God.
Página 161 - Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" —And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Página 114 - Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.
Página 161 - The boy ! — oh, where was he ? Ask of the winds, that far around With fragments strewed the sea, — With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part ; But the noblest thing that perished there, Was that young faithful heart ! THOMAS CAMPBELL.
Página 348 - Far down, and shining through their stillness lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies ! — Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ; Earth claims not these again.
Página 123 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Página 190 - England's dead. The warlike of the isles, The men of field and wave ! Are not the rocks their funeral piles, The seas and shores their grave ! Go, stranger ! track the deep, Free, free the white sail spread ! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead.