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accent American Angels answer battle beautiful begin breath bright called Captain changed characters church colony Courtship dark dead death England English eyes face fair fear feeling feet figure fire flowers followed forest friendship Full give gleam grave hand head hear heard heart Indian John Alden King land laugh leaves light living Longfellow look loud maiden Master Mayflower memory Miles Standish never night o'er ocean once passed Pilgrims Plymouth poem poet poetry Priscilla Published Puritan rain rest rise rock Rose round sail seemed seen shadows ship silent simple snow soldier song sound spake speak stands stood story strong sweet syllable things thoughts told town vessel village voice wall wave wife wild wind woods young youth
100. oldal - Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
76. oldal - He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be ? " " Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — And he steered for the open sea.
101. oldal - Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points and beckons with its hands From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — " Forever — never ! Never — forever !
130. oldal - MY LOST YOUTH. OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear- old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still : " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
70. oldal - Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; • Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf 's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.
122. oldal - 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 pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.
81. oldal - At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! POEMS ON SLAVERY.
119. oldal - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair!
61. oldal - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
62. oldal - I have naught that is fair ?" saith he ; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves.