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Acadian angel art thou BAROZAI BARTOLOME beautiful behold beneath birds bosom breath bride bright brooklet CHISPA clouds Count of Lara CRUZADO dance dark dead death DON CARLOS Don Dinero doth dream earth Evangeline eyes face fair father fear fire flowers forest Gipsy gleam gold golden grave Guy de Dampierre hand hear heard heart heaven holy Humphrey Gilbert HYPOLITO land leaves light lips look loud maiden meadows midnight Minnesingers moon morning night Nils Juel o'er ocean PADRE CURA passed poem Pray prayer PRECIOSA priest restless heart rise river round sail Saint sang scene shadows shine ships silent silver singing sleep slumbered smile soft song sorrow soul sound spake stands stars stood sweet tears Tharaw thee thine thou art thou hast thought Timoneda unto VICTORIAN village voice wait wander wave weary wild wind window words youth
Página 190 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of time.
Página 191 - And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
Página 226 - O what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent ! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear.
Página 153 - Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base ; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky.
Página 103 - 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.
Página 541 - THOUGH the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small ; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he alL TRUTH.
Página 295 - The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night...
Página 242 - With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow.
Página 212 - Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow'. "But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.