Lotos Leaves: Original Stories, Essays, and PoemsJohn Brougham, John Elderkin |
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actor Admiral ALFRED TENNYSON Anti-tobaccoite asked asylum Bagfield beautiful Beethoven Bertha Bill Ballard BRANDER MATTHEWS brother called character Charlestown clarionet Clemm dead dear drama Eastbourne Echo Cañon eyes face fact father feeling feet flower followed gentleman Graham's Magazine Griswold hand Haydn head hear heard heart hermit human idea instruments John Andrew JOHN BROUGHAM John Brown Juggins knew lady laugh Leprachaun letter living looked Lotos ment mind morning Mozart never night Old Missourah once Pabodie passed person Philip Becker play Poe's poet poor present river Roland seemed Sing stage story stringed instruments Susie symphony tell theater thing thou thought tion Todesblume told took tree truth Ts'eu turned Upandownjohn Vermillion County violin voice walk whiskey wife Winterbottom words write York Tribune young
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Page 315 - COURAGE !" he said, and pointed toward the land, " This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land, In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Page 316 - Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land : far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush'd : and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. The charmed sunset linger'd low a/down In the red West : thro...
Page 318 - Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we.
Page 318 - Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong ; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil ; Till they perish and they suffer — some...
Page 318 - Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil ? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence, ripen, fall and cease : Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease ! 5. How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream ! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush...
Page 317 - There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies, Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
Page 318 - Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence — ripen, fall, and cease : Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
Page 272 - But the house ! — how quaint an old building was this ! — to me how veritably a palace of enchantment ! There was really no end to its windings — to its incomprehensible subdivisions. It was difficult, at any given time, to say with certainty upon which of its two stories one happened to be.
Page 220 - Of gnat-like evils hover round its head ; Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame Of riot and war we see its awful form Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. For always in thine eyes, O Liberty ! Shines that high light whereby the world is saved ; And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee ! How WE HUNG JOHN BROWN.
Page 318 - With half-dropt eyelid still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!