The Poets and Poetry of America: To the Middle of the Nineteenth Century

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Page 171 - thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy shelter'd nest. Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallow'd up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.
Page 423 - sorrow— Sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain Rustling of each purple curtain Thrill'd me—fill'd me with fantastic Terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating u 'Tis some
Page 423 - upon a midnight dreary, While I ponder'd, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious Volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, Rapping at my chamber door. " Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, " Tapping at my chamber door— Only this, and nothing more.
Page 424 - core ; This and more I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining That the lamplight gloated o'er; But whose velvet violet lining With the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, never more ! Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfum'd from an unseen censer, Swung
Page 321 - And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm. О fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. ENDYMION.
Page 423 - bless'd with seeing Bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured Bust above his chamber door, With such name as " Nevermore." But the raven sitting lonely On the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in That one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttcr'd— Not a feather then he
Page 319 - Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say " Peace !" Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals The
Page 201 - Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys, And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, Talk of thy doom without a sigh : For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die.
Page 419 - not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent, And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn—
Page 424 - myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing. But no syllable expressing To the fowl whose

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