The Poets and Poetry of America: With an Historical Introduction
Carey and Hart, 1842 - 468 pages
One of the most important American poetry anthologies of the nineteenth century, including the works of nearly every major and minor poet of the day, selected by Edgar Allan Poe's future literary executor, and rarely encountered in the correct first printing. Poets included are Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier, Holmes, Bryant, Emerson, Jones Very, William Gilmore Simms, Christopher P. Cranch, Richard Henry Dana, and an impressive selection of female poets now mostly forgotten: Sigourney, Gould, Brooks, Mrs. Seba Smith, Hall, Embury, Ellett, Dinnies, Welby, Hooper, Davidson.
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
arms bear beauty beneath bird blue born breast breath bright brow clouds cold comes dark dead death deep dream early earth face fair fall father fear feel fire flame flowers friends gaze give glory glow gone grave green hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour Italy land leaves light lips living lonely look lost meet mind morning mountains nature never night o'er once pale pass peace poems prayer published pure rest rise rock roll rose round scene shade shore side sleep smile soft song soon soul sound spirit spread spring stand stars storm stream sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought tree turn voice waters wave wild wind wings woods young youth
Page 238 - 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.
Page 97 - There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost, All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Page 239 - This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice, That banner with the strange device Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice...
Page 97 - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Page 274 - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
Page 97 - 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.
Page 89 - 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.
Page 109 - Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Page 238 - 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. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! ENDYMION.