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ALNWICK CASTLE amid art Napoleon beauty beneath bird blackening air blue bosom breast breath breeze bright brow CARLOS WILCOX cheek clouds dark dead death deep dream earth fair flowers forest gale gaze gentle gloom glorious glory glow green groves hand hath hear heart heaven hills hour lake land Learn to labour leaves life's light lips living lone look look'd LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY morning mountain N. P. WILLIS night o'er ocean pale pass pass'd Pilgrim Fathers pinions prayer rest rock round seem'd SENECA LAKE shade shore silent silver sleep slumbers smile soft song soul sound spirit spring stars storm stream sweep sweet swell tears thee thine Thou art thou hast thought tone tread trees twilight URSA MAJOR voice WASHINGTON ALLSTON waters waves weary WEEHAWKEN whip-poor-will wild WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT winds wing woods youth
Strona 161 - TO A WATERFOWL 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? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Strona 15 - Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
Strona 15 - 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.
Strona 139 - In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the pass!
Strona 83 - He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Strona 147 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Strona 15 - 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.
Strona 73 - The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea. And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the wave his own.
Strona 233 - My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled ; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. " They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear.