« AnteriorContinuar »
Oh, call my brother back to me!
I cannot play alone :
The Child's First Grief.
The Voice of Spring.
Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory.
EDWARD EVERETT. 1794-1865.
When I am dead, no pageant train
Shall waste their sorrows at my bier,
Stain it with hypocritic tear. Alaric the Visigoth.
Your monuments upon my breast,
Lay down the wreck of power to rest,
On him that was “the scourge of God.” Ibid. No gilded dome swells from the lowly roof to catch the morning or evening beam; but the love and gratitude of united America settle upon it in one eternal sunshine. From beneath that humble roof went forth the intrepid and unselfish warrior, the magistrate who knew no glory but his country's good; to that he returned, happiest when his work was done. There he lived in noble simplicity, there he died in glory and peace. While it stands, the latest generations of the grateful children of America will make this pilgrimage
to it as to a shrine; and when it shall fall, if fall it must, the memory and the name of Washington shall shed an eternal glory on the spot.
Oration on the Character of Washington.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 1794-1878.
Here the free spirit of mankind, at length,
The Ages. xxxiii.
Thanatopsis. Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
Ibid. The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
Ibid. Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste.
ibid. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.
Ibid. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves 1 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 that wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. Ibid.
1 The edition of 1821 read,
The innumerable caravan that moves
The groves were God's first temples. A Forest llymn.
The stormy March has come at last,
With winds and clouds and changing skies;
Autumn Woods The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
The Death of the Flowers. And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no
Loveliest of lovely things are they
A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson.
The eternal years of God are hers;
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820.
When Freedom from her mountain-height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
And set the stars of glory there.
And striped its pure, celestial white
By angel hands to valour given!
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
The American Flag.
JOHN KEATS. 1795-1821.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Endymion. Book i.
I bade good-morrow,
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
Book iv. So many, and so many, and such glee.
Ibid. Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is — Love, forgive us !- cinders, ashes, dust.
Lamia. Part ü. There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 3.
The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
Asleep in lap of legends old.
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.
As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
That large utterance of the early gods!
Hyperion. Book i.
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
Dance and Provençal song and sunburnt mirth!
Ode to a Nightingale.
Though the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home
The same that ofttimes hath