Miscellanies: The curse of Minerva. The Waltz. Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte. Hebrew melodies. The Morgante Maggiore of Pulci. The prophecy of Dante. The blues, a literary eclogue. The vision of judgment. The age of bronze

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Seite 75 - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
Seite 54 - And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
Seite 53 - SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Seite 61 - ... roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!
Seite 5 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Seite 75 - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord...
Seite 48 - Where may the wearied eye repose When gazing on the great; Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state ? Yes — one — the first — the last — the best— The Cincinnatus of the West, Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeathed the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but One !
Seite 225 - The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two, Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, Splitting some planet with its playful tail, As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.
Seite 69 - O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine — Jehovah's vessels hold The godless heathen's wine. In that same hour and hall, The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man ; — A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand.
Seite 40 - And now thou art a nameless thing: So abject — yet alive ! Is this the man of thousand thrones, Who...

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