طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
ages amid APENNINES beauty beneath birds blood bloom blossoms blue bosom boughs breath bright brook brow calm clouds cold dark days of heaven death deep didst dwell earth EARTH'S CHILDREN fair flowers forest fresh gaze gentle glad glen glide glittering glorious glory grave gray Greece green groves hand hear heart heaven hills hour hunter HYMN land light look lovers walked maid maiden maize mighty mountain murmur MUSQUITO night o'er old Castile pass Peru PITCAIRN'S ISLAND pleasant PRAIRIES race rest rill RIZPAH rocks round rustling savannas shade shadows shine sight silent silent hills skies sleep smile soft song sound spirit springs star stream strong summer sweet swell tears tempest THANATOPSIS thee thine thou art thou dost Thou hast thou shalt thousand cheerful trees vale voice wandering warriors watch weep wild wind-flower winds wings woods youth
الصفحة 266 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
الصفحة 39 - THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave. And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
الصفحة 33 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
الصفحة 33 - Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
الصفحة 257 - Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
الصفحة 124 - Tis life to feel the night-wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — A moment — and away, Back to the pathless forest Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven...
الصفحة 41 - Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die ; but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms.
الصفحة 31 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
الصفحة 41 - Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this great universe.
الصفحة 123 - And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.