Ticknor, 1856 - 336 pagina's

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Pagina 183 - With aching hands and bleeding feet . We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.
Pagina 62 - Brimming, and bright, and large ; then sands begin To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, And split his currents ; that for many a league The shorn and...
Pagina 72 - Say, will it never heal ? And can this fragrant lawn With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And moonshine, and the dew, To thy rack'd heart and brain Afford no balm ? Dost thou to-night behold Here, through the moonlight on this English grass...
Pagina 169 - For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new; Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day — Ah!
Pagina 270 - Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. Physician of the iron age, Goethe has done his pilgrimage. He took the suffering human race. He read each wound, each weakness clear ; And struck his finger on the place, And said : Thou ailest here, and here ! He look'd on Europe's dying hour Of fitful dream and feverish power ; His eye plunged down the weltering strife.
Pagina 164 - But, mid their -drink and clatter, he would fly. And I myself seem half to know thy looks, And put the shepherds, wanderer ! on thy trace...
Pagina 83 - Alcmena's dreadful son Ply his bow ; — such a price The Gods exact for song : To become what we sing.
Pagina 174 - OTHERS abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the...
Pagina 166 - At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, Where at her open door the housewife darns, Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. Children, who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills...
Pagina 70 - Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills ; and there The sunshine in the happy glens is fair, And by the sea, and in the brakes. The grass is cool, the sea-side air Buoyant and fresh, the mountain-flowers More virginal and sweet than ours.

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