The Poetical Works of Fitz-Greene Halleck

D. Appleton, 1858 - 238 Seiten

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Seite 35 - GREEN be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.
Seite 82 - They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty ; A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none.
Seite 121 - And a dew was distill'd from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, , An essence that breathes of it many a year ; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer...
Seite 28 - That could not fear and would not bow, Were written in his manly eye And on his manly brow. Praise to the bard ! his words are driven, Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, Where'er, beneath the sky of heaven, The birds of fame have flown.
Seite 121 - There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S ' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Seite 53 - Who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing Would, like the Patriarch's, soothe a dying hour, With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower; With look like patient Job's eschewing evil; With motions graceful as a bird's in air ; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil...
Seite 127 - O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep, And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes The breathless moment — when his daring step Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear The low dash of the wave with startled ear, Like the death-music of his coming doom...
Seite 9 - The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet ring: Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king ; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, '° As Eden's garden bird.
Seite 10 - And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: "Strike ! till the last armed foe expires ! Strike ! for your altars and your fires ! Strike ! for the green graves of your sires ; God, and your native land...
Seite 11 - Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath ; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song and dance and wine, — And thou art terrible ; the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine.

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