Poems of Henry Timrod: With Memoir and Portrait

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1899 - 193 pages
 

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Page xxxi - Daughters; but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Page xxi - In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone!
Page 4 - Still, there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn In the sweet airs of morn; One almost looks to see the very street Grow purple at his feet. At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, And brings, you know not why, A feeling as when eager crowds await Before a palace gate Some wondrous pageant ; and you scarce would start, If from a beech's heart A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say, "Behold me! I am May!
Page 146 - Calm as that second summer which precedes The first fall of the snow, In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds, The City bides the foe. As yet, behind their ramparts stern and proud, Her bolted thunders sleep— Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud, Looms o'er the solemn deep. No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scar To guard the holy strand; But Moultrie holds in leash her dogs of war Above the level sand.
Page 11 - Back on its course, and, while our banners wing Northward, strike with us ! till the Goth shall cling To his own blasted altar-stones, and crave Mercy ; and we shall grant it, and dictate The lenient future of his fate There, where some rotting ships and crumbling quays Shall one day mark the Port which ruled the Western seas.
Page 10 - To the mean channels of no selfish mart, Goes out to every shore Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships That bear no thunders ; hushes hungry lips In alien lands ; Joins with a delicate web remotest strands ; And gladdening rich and poor, Doth gild Parisian domes, Or feed the cottage-smoke of English homes, And only bounds its blessings by mankind...
Page 151 - Set up his evil throne, and warred with God — What if, both mad and blinded in their rage, Our foes should fling us down their mortal gage, And with a hostile step profane our sod ! We shall not shrink, my brothers, but go forth To meet them, marshaled by the Lord of Hosts, And overshadowed by the mighty ghosts Of Moultrie and of Eutaw...
Page 9 - No fairer land hath fired a poet's lays, Or given a home to man! But these are charms already widely blown ! His be the meed whose pencil's trace Hath touched our very swamps with grace, And round whose tuneful way All Southern laurels bloom; The Poet of "The Woodlands...
Page 163 - Peace in the quiet dales, Made rankly fertile by the blood of men, Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen, Peace in the peopled vales! Peace in the crowded town, Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain, Peace in the highway and the flowery lane, Peace on the wind-swept down!
Page 142 - Hold up the glories of thy dead ; Say how thy elder children bled, And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, Carolina ! Tell how the patriot's soul was tried, And what his dauntless breast defied ; How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died, Carolina ! Cry! till thy summons, heard at last, Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast Re-echoed from the haunted Past, Carolina...

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