Epistles, odes, and other poems

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Seite 305 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Seite 40 - And the boat returned no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp. To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp. And paddle their white canoe ! MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL.
Seite 307 - There is not a breath the blue wave to curl, But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Seite 39 - They made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true ; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. " And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear ; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of Death is near...
Seite 210 - The weary statesman for repose hath fled From halls of council to his negro's shed, Where blest he woos some black Aspasia's grace. And dreams of freedom in his slave's embrace...
Seite 4 - Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam, And smiles them into tranquil sleep ! Oh ! such a blessed night as this, I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss Upon the moon-bright scenery here! The sea is like a silvery lake, And, o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it feared to wake The slumber of the silent tides...
Seite 14 - Tin« like thy wing's impatient zeal Is the pure soul, that scorns to rest Upon the world's ignoble breast, But takes the plume that God has given, And rises into light and heaven ! But, when I see that wing, so bright...
Seite 40 - And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, The name of the death-cold maid. Till he hollow'da boat of the birchen bark, Which carried him off from shore ; Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark, The wind was high and the clouds were dark, And the boat return'd no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp To cross the Lake by a...
Seite 70 - I DO confess, in many a sigh, My lips have breath'd you many a lie, And who with such delights in view, Would lose them, for a lie or two ? Nay— look not thus, with brow reproving ; Lies are, my dear, the soul...
Seite 180 - Who can. with patience, for a moment see The medley mass of pride and misery, Of whips and charters, manacles and rights, Of slaving blacks and democratic whites. And all the piebald polity that reigns In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains? To think that man, thou just and gentle God ! Should stand before thee, with a tyrant's rod O'er creatures like himself, with souls from thee, Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty...

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