Diversions of the Echo Club: A Companion to the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table"

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John Camden Hotten, 1873 - 192 pages

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Page 53 - For Nature beats in perfect tune, And rounds with rhyme her every rune, Whether she work in land or sea, Or hide underground her alchemy. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake.
Page 53 - Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns ; Through times that wear, and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns.
Page 22 - If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame.
Page 26 - O'er the ruins of my days, O'er the dimeless, timeless days, When the fifty, drawn at thirty, Seeming thrifty, yet the dirty Lucre of the market, was the most that I could raise! Fiends controlled it, (Let him hold it!) Devils held for me the inkstand and the pen ; Now the days of grace are o'er, (Ah, Lenore!) I am but as other men; What is time, time, time, To my rare and runic rhyme, To my random, reeling rhyme, By the sands along the shore, Where the tempest whispers, " Pay him ! " and I answer,...
Page 127 - ... remain ; Yet may we think, and forget, and possess our souls in resistance.- — Ah, but away from the stir, shouting, and gossip of war, Where, upon Apennine slope., with the chestnut the oak-trees immingle, Where, amid odorous copse bridle-paths wander and wind. Where, under mulberry-branches, the diligent rivulet sparkles, Or amid cotton and maize peasants their water-works ply, Where, over fig-tree and orange in tier upon tier still repeated, Garden on garden upreared, balconies step to the...
Page 181 - CAMERADOS Everywhere, everywhere, following me; Taking me by the buttonhole, pulling off my boots, hustling me with the elbows; Sitting down with me to clams and the chowder-kettle; Plunging naked at my side into the sleek, irascible surges; Soothing me with the strain that I neither permit nor prohibit; Flocking this way and that, reverent, eager, orotund, irrepressible; Denser than sycamore leaves when the north-winds are scouring Paumanok; What can I do to restrain them? Nothing, verily nothing....
Page 69 - Hiram Hover, Huldah Hyde. She, a maiden fair and dapper, He, a red-haired, stalwart trapper, Hunting beaver, mink, and skunk, In the woodlands of Squeedunk. She, Pentucket's pensive daughter, Walked beside the Skuntic water, Gathering, in her apron wet, Snakeroot, mint, and bouncing-bet. •
Page 29 - ... to enhance — The start being granted, onward goes the dance To its own music — the poem's inward sense ; So, by its verity .... nay, no pretence Avails your self-created bards, and thus By just the chance of half a hair to us, If understood .... but what...
Page 75 - O, Love and Fate! How could she choose My rounded outlines, broader brain, • And my resuscitated Muse? Some tears she shed, but whether pain Or joy in him unlocked their source, I could not fathom which, of course.
Page 26 - Twas the random runes I wrote At the bottom of the note, (Wrote and freely Gave to Greeley) In the middle of the night, In the mellow, moonless night, When the stars were out of sight, When my pulses, like a knell, (Israfel!) Danced with dim and dying fays, O'er the ruins of my days, O'er the dimeless, timeless days, When the fifty, drawn at thirty, Seeming thrifty, yet the dirty Lucre of the market, was the most that I could raise!

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