Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee, – The Child's First Grief. I have looked on the hills of the stormy North, I had a hat. It was not all a hat, Part of the brim was gone: Yet still I wore it on. The Voice of Spring. Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory. EDWARD EVERETT. 1794-1865. When I am dead, no pageant train You shall not pile, with servile toil, Nor yet within the common soil Alaric the Visigoth. Lay down the wreck of power to rest, 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. To him who in the love of Nature holds Go forth under the open sky, and list Thanatopsis. The globe are but a handful to the tribes So live, that when thy summons comes to join 1 To that mysterious realm where each shall take 1 The edition of 1821 read, The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take. Ibid. Ibid. The groves were God's first temples. The stormy March has come at last, A Forest Hymn. With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. But 'neath yon crimson tree March. Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Her blush of maiden shame. Autumn Woods. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown The Death of the Flowers. and sear. And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. Loveliest of lovely things are they Ibid. A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson. The victory of endurance born. The Battle-Field. Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, - Ibid. JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820. When Freedom from her mountain-height She tore the azure robe of night, She mingled with its gorgeous dyes And striped its pure, celestial white Flag of the free heart's hope and home! And all thy hues were born in heaven. Where breathes the foe but falls before us, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? The American Flag. Endymion. Book i. JOHN KEATS. 1795-1821. A thing of beauty is a joy forever; He ne'er is crown'd With immortality, who fears to follow Where airy voices lead. To sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; Book ii. She is so constant to me, and so kind. 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 ii. There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: Ibid. 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, Stanza 4. Stanza 15. Stanza 16. A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing. Stanza 18. As though a rose should shut and be a bud again. Stanza 27. And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon. Stanza 30. He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy." That large utterance of the early gods! Stanza 33. Hyperion. Book i. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Dance and Provençal song and sunburnt mirth! Ibid. Book ii. Ode to a Nightingale. Though the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Ibid. |