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ancient appeared arms beautiful become called cause century Civil Code common Court Crozat dark deep duty early earth existence expression father fear feel follow France friends gaze give given glory hand happiness head hear heart heaven honor hope human hundred imagination influence interest Italy Judge justice knowledge known land language learned leave less liberty light lives look Louisiana means mighty mind moral nature never night noble o'er object once opinion passed past peace person possessed present principles race reason religion remain remarkable respect Roman ruins scenes seemed seen smile soul Spain Spanish speak spirit tears thee thing thou thought thousand tion true truth waters whole wild
Page 62 - Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Page 227 - Alas, the lofty city! and alas, The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away! Alas for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page! But these shall be Her resurrection; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free!
Page 1 - Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To lose good days, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow; To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers...
Page 164 - A few short hours, and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate. »Come hither, hither, my little page: Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along«.
Page 144 - When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear ; — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Page 228 - There it was that I found and visited the famous Galileo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition for thinking in astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought.
Page 36 - Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, — But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand ; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea, — But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! TO THE MOCKING BIRD.
Page 67 - As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head...
Page 18 - I'd like to look at God." Ere long, Disease his hand had laid On that dear boy, so meek and mild : His widowed mother wept and prayed That God would spare her sightless child. He felt her warm tears on his face, And said, — " Oh ! never weep for me ; I'm going to a better place, Where God my Saviour I shall see.
Page 35 - MY life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close Is scattered on the ground— to die. Yet on the rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to see, — But none shall weep a tear for me ! My life is like the autumn leaf, That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Its hold is frail, its date is brief; Restless, and soon to pass away...