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admirable American amid apple-tree autumn Barrington beautiful Bigelow bloom blossoms Bob-o'-link breath bright called calm chee College Cummington Dana death earth edited editorial expression father Fitz-Greene Halleck flowers forest genius George William Curtis glorious grave green Halleck hand heart heaven hills honour hymns Indian James Grant Wilson John Bigelow journalism journalist land language Leggett letter light literary literature living look memory mountains nature never newspaper North North American Review o'er passed poem poet poet's poetic poetry political Post prose published pure Ray Palmer Richard Henry Stoddard Roslyn says shade shalt smile song spirit stanzas Stockbridge stream style summer sweet Thanatopsis thee thou thought tion trees valley Verplanck verse volume wandering Washington Irving wild William Cullen Bryant William Leggett wind woods words writings written wrote York young youth
Page 52 - Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around — Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice: — Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace...
Page 51 - 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 53 - Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 13 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Page 61 - 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 98 - 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.
Page 183 - Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee." Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food, Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood; "Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link. Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee.
Page 83 - Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns. Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees.
Page 83 - Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker.
Page 96 - I know, I know I should not see The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me, Nor its wild music flow ; But if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep, They might not haste to go. Soft airs, and song, and light and bloom Should keep them lingering by my tomb.