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admiration American amid arms army beautiful beneath bright British called Celt character charm Christian command Connecticut Daniel O'Connell dark DAVID WOOSTER death deep divine Ellsworth eloquence enemy England English feeling French genius green Guizot hand heart heaven Hibernian honor hour Ireland Irish king labor land light literary literature living look Louisburg ment mind moral nation native nature never night noble Oliver Ellsworth once orator oratory Ovid passed peace perhaps poet poetry present Propertius Raleigh reader Robert Carter Roman ROMAN NAVY Rome Rotterdam scene Schenectady seems ships shore side smile soldiers soon soul speak spirit stand Tacitus taste teetotalism thee thing thou thought thousand Tibullus tion trees true truth vessels voice Webster whole Wooster words write Yale College young
Page 277 - And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 175 - The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Page 63 - There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life, which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.
Page 174 - Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain." Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.
Page 172 - He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
Page 411 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word : And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Bach flower the dews have lightly wet. And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, « And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, Which follows...
Page 309 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care, No children run to lisp their sire's return Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 174 - Oh weep for Adonais ! — The quick Dreams, The passion-winged ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music...