The Bowdoin PoetsEdward Payson Weston J. Griffin, 1849 - 180 pages |
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Page 16
... o'er me one by one- The silver clouds rise up - float o'er - are gone . The forest pines which circle round Like dark towers at my side , But show the depths of the dim vault , Where the holy stars abide . Unsounded void ! yet deepening ...
... o'er me one by one- The silver clouds rise up - float o'er - are gone . The forest pines which circle round Like dark towers at my side , But show the depths of the dim vault , Where the holy stars abide . Unsounded void ! yet deepening ...
Page 21
... o'er ? He kindles at the name , He sits and thinks apart― Time blows , and blows it to a flame- It burns within his heart . He loves it , though it burns , And nurses it with care , Feeding the blissful pain , by turns , With hope , and ...
... o'er ? He kindles at the name , He sits and thinks apart― Time blows , and blows it to a flame- It burns within his heart . He loves it , though it burns , And nurses it with care , Feeding the blissful pain , by turns , With hope , and ...
Page 27
... O'er plains where the tamarind grew , Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts , And the ocean rose to view . At night he heard the lion roar , And the hyæna scream , And the river - horse , as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ...
... O'er plains where the tamarind grew , Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts , And the ocean rose to view . At night he heard the lion roar , And the hyæna scream , And the river - horse , as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ...
Page 30
... o'er the feature , Guile may not have control : The tongue may tell of feelings , Which may be- -or may not ; But the eye hath sure revealings Of the deeply hidden thought . I love that quick expression , Which flashes the full eye ...
... o'er the feature , Guile may not have control : The tongue may tell of feelings , Which may be- -or may not ; But the eye hath sure revealings Of the deeply hidden thought . I love that quick expression , Which flashes the full eye ...
Page 33
... o'er each mossy trunk , And every bough , as an Eolian harp , Full of the solemn chant of the low breeze ? Thou hast forgotten this - and standest here , Thy hand in mine , and hearest , even now , The rustling wood , the stir of ...
... o'er each mossy trunk , And every bough , as an Eolian harp , Full of the solemn chant of the low breeze ? Thou hast forgotten this - and standest here , Thy hand in mine , and hearest , even now , The rustling wood , the stir of ...
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Common terms and phrases
beam beauty beneath blessed Bowdoin BOWDOIN COLLEGE bowers breast breath bright bright land brow CHARLES H clouds cold COVENANTERS crown dark dead death deep DISMAL SWAMP doeth all things dream drifting earth Excelsior fair faith flowers fragrant friends gaze Gennesaret gentle GEORGE W gleam gloom glory green hath hear heart heaven HENRY W hopes hour infant JOHN IN EXILE joyous leaves life's light lips live alway lonely Lyre LYRIC POETRY Mamma memory morning mother mourn ne'er neath night numbers o'er ocean old time loved passed prayer repose rest restless heart roam roar ROBERT WYMAN rolling round SEBA SMITH shore sigh silent sister sleep slumbers smile soft song sorrow soul spirit star storms strife surge sweet tears tempest's thee thine thou art thought throng toil trembling Twas voice wake waves weep wild winds wing youth
Popular passages
Page 111 - It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
Page 86 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!
Page 123 - Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main; Till in sheltered coves, and reaches Of sandy beaches, All have found repose again.
Page 15 - And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. O, though oft depressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember...
Page 122 - SEAWEED. WHEN descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with seaweed from the rocks : From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges Of sunken ledges, In some far-off, bright Azore ; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador...
Page 27 - He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand ; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand !— A tear burst from the sleeper's lids, And fell into the sand.
Page 13 - When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight...
Page 27 - O'er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of CafFre huts, And the ocean rose to view. At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyaena scream, And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty ; And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, With a voice so wild and free, That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous...
Page 171 - Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Page 13 - Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall ; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door ; The beloved ones, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more ; He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the road-side fell and perished, Weary with the march of life...