The Gift Book of GemsDavid Bugbee & Company, 1856 - 312 pages |
From inside the book
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Page vii
... tones . Here , where the broadest rivers sweep , Here , where the dimmest woods are found , Our fondest memories start from sleep , Aroused by thy dear sound . Come , let me strike thy chords once more , And , while my fingers o'er them ...
... tones . Here , where the broadest rivers sweep , Here , where the dimmest woods are found , Our fondest memories start from sleep , Aroused by thy dear sound . Come , let me strike thy chords once more , And , while my fingers o'er them ...
Page 6
... tone , since those odes by which the millions of Israel , tuned their march across the wilderness , and to which the fiery pillar seemed to listen with complacency , and to glow out a deeper crimson , in silent praise . To man's now ...
... tone , since those odes by which the millions of Israel , tuned their march across the wilderness , and to which the fiery pillar seemed to listen with complacency , and to glow out a deeper crimson , in silent praise . To man's now ...
Page 47
... When the clock strikes clear at morning light- When the child is waked with nine at night ' . When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air , Filling the spirit with tones of prayer- Whatever tale in NATHANIEL P. WILLIS . 47 Belfry Pigeon,
... When the clock strikes clear at morning light- When the child is waked with nine at night ' . When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air , Filling the spirit with tones of prayer- Whatever tale in NATHANIEL P. WILLIS . 47 Belfry Pigeon,
Page 48
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer- Whatever tale in the bell is heard , He broods on his folded feet unstirr'd , Or , rising half in his rounded nest , He takes the time to smooth his breast , Then drops again with filmed eyes ...
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer- Whatever tale in the bell is heard , He broods on his folded feet unstirr'd , Or , rising half in his rounded nest , He takes the time to smooth his breast , Then drops again with filmed eyes ...
Page 59
... tone dear childhood ! Is that strange sound to me ; Dear is the memory It brings my soul of many a parted year . Again , yet once again , O minstrel of the main ! Lo ! festal face and form familiar throng Unto my waking eye ; And voices ...
... tone dear childhood ! Is that strange sound to me ; Dear is the memory It brings my soul of many a parted year . Again , yet once again , O minstrel of the main ! Lo ! festal face and form familiar throng Unto my waking eye ; And voices ...
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Common terms and phrases
amid Bangor Battle of Niagara beautiful beneath birds bless bloom born Bowdoin College breast breath bright brow clouds cold dark dead dear death deep dream earth ELIZABETH OAKES PRINCE Farewell Flagg flowers gaze gentle glory gone grave hast hath hear heart heaven HENRY W hopes hour hymn HYPOLITO Ianthe Idlewild immortal JOHN NEAL Kennebec County land life's light lingering lips literary lone LONGFELLOW look look'd Lovejoy MELLEN MELVILLE WESTON FULLER morning mournful native neath never night o'er pass'd poems poet poetry Portland Portland Tribune prayer Prentiss Mellen published round SEBA SMITH shade shadows shine shore sigh sing skies sleep smile Smith song sorrow soul sound spirit star storm stream summer sunbright sweet tears tell thine Thou art thought of thee tree trembling Twas voice wave weary weep wild wind wing youth
Popular passages
Page 22 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 25 - 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! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the Pass!
Page 14 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 28 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
Page 2 - Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate...
Page 26 - ... 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 fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! POEMS ON SLAVERY.
Page 18 - I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead.
Page 20 - ALL houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited ; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall.
Page 19 - I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms, vast and wan, Beleaguer the human soul. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the...
Page 24 - We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way THE BUILDERS.