The Courtship of Miles Standish, and Other Poems

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Routledge, Warnes, & Routledge, 1859 - 119 páginas
 

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Página 112 - WHENE'ER a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts, in glad surprise, To higher levels rise. The tidal wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls, And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares.
Página 119 - A WIND came up out of the sea, And said, " O mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, " Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake ! it is the day." It said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, "O bird, awake and sing.
Página 74 - We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. ' The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. ' The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by path-ways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. ' The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden Sight, But...
Página 112 - Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet...
Página 111 - I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the schoolboy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
Página 25 - But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, " Why don't you speak for yourself, John ?
Página 114 - Lo ! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.
Página 106 - Ah ! what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, — That to the world are children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below.
Página 106 - COME to me, O ye children ! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run.
Página 80 - The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; Owners and occupants of earlier dates From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, And hold in Mortmain still their old estates.

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