William Cullen Bryant

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Sheldon, 1879 - 240 pages

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Page 202 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Page 204 - Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach ! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps, And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering. Look ! the massy trunks Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray, Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven, Is studded with its trembling water-drops, That glimmer with an amethystine light. But round the parent-stem the long...
Page 210 - FREEDOM ! thou art not; as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow, 840 LATER POEMS.
Page 49 - 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 favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Page 48 - 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.
Page 203 - There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
Page 206 - And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side, Come clinging along their unsteady way, As friend with friend or husband with wife Makes, hand in hand, the passage of life ; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake.
Page 210 - THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. HEBE are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds, And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set With pale blue berries.
Page 217 - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
Page 213 - Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened, All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene...

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