The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant: With Griswold's MemoirRoutledge, Warne and Routledge, 1861 - 231页 |
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amid beauty beneath bird blood bloom blossoms blue boughs breath bright brook brow calm clouds cold dark dead death deep deer dwell earth EARTH'S CHILDREN eyes fair flowers forest gaze gentle glad glen glide glittering glorious glory grass grave green GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS groves hand hear heart heaven hills hour HYMN land leaves light look lovers walk maid maiden maize Maquon mighty mighty heart morning mountain murmur night noon o'er Oh father pass PITCAIRN'S ISLAND pleasant poem rill Rizpah rocks round ruffed grouse savannas shade shine shore sight silent skies sleep smile soft song sound spirit spring Stockbridge stream summer sweet swell tears tempest thee thine thou art thou dost thou hast thou shalt trees vale voice wandering warriors watch waters weep wild William Cullen Bryant WILLIAM LEGGETT wind wind-flower wings woods youth
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第14页 - Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt...
第90页 - The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen.
第90页 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
第14页 - TO him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware.
第16页 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves 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 who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
第15页 - So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
第78页 - Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives.
第136页 - ... round us As seamen know the sea; We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear; When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again...
第15页 - Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
第130页 - Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye, Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.