The Poets and Poetry of America

Parry and McMillan, 1856 - 622页

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第353页 - a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; His face is like the tan ; Hi« brow is wet with honest sweat ; He earns
第353页 - its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust rcturnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, Still, like muffled drums, are
第202页 - Freedom from her mountain height Unfurl'd her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white, With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She
第168页 - 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. When thoughts Of the
第464页 - the capacities of the English language. And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. ANNABEL LEE. IT was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of
第173页 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ! Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
第168页 - Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thec to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around— Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Comes
第467页 - Nevermore." And the raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting' On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door ; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws
第210页 - AT midnight, in his guarded tent. The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power: In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet-ring: Then
第467页 - Thin it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger ; Hesitating then no longer, « Sir," said I. " or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, And so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, Tapping at my chamber door, That I