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Acadian angel art thou beautiful behold beneath birds blessed bosom breath bright brooklet Bruges CEUZADO CHISPA clouds dance dark dead death DON CABLOS door dost dreams earth Edenhall ELSIE Evangeline eyes face fair father fear fire flowers forest Gipsy gleam golden grave hand hear heard heart heaven Hiawatha holy HYPOLITO IABA Kenabeek LABA land Laughing light lips look loud maiden meadow Miles Standish Mondamin moon morning night Nokomis o'er Osseo pass Pau-Puk-Keewis PBINCE HENBY PEINCE Pray prayer PRECIOSA rise river round sail Saint sang shadow shining silent singing sleep smile soft song Song of Hiawatha sorrow soul sound spake speak spirit stand stars stood sunshine sweet Tharaw thee thine thou art thou hast thought unto VICTOBIAN village voice wait walls wampum wander waves weary whispered wigwam wild wind window words youth
90. oldal - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!
288. oldal - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workman wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
81. oldal - The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
206. oldal - Read from some humbler poet. Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
637. oldal - A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea-tides tossing free ; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips. And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
85. oldal - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
82. oldal - 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. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! ENDYMION.
187. oldal - Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts!
647. oldal - Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
53. oldal - SPEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me ! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms. Why dost thou haunt me ? " Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. " I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song...