The Poet Among the Hills: Oliver Wendell Holmes in Berkshire. His Berkshire Poems, Some of Them Now First Published, with Historic and Descriptive Incidents Concerning the Poems, the Poet, and His Literary Neighbors

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George Blatchford, 1895 - 182 pages
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Page 57 - For the strength of the hills we bless Thee, our God, our fathers
Page 170 - Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe, — " Forever — never ! Never — forever...
Page 169 - By day its voice is low and light ; But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, It echoes along the vacant hall, Along the ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say at each chamber door, ' ' Forever — never ! Never — forever...
Page 160 - ... foam from its jaws as if nothing had happened. The mountains give their lost children berries and water ; the sea mocks their thirst and lets them die. The mountains have a grand, stupid, lovable tranquillity ; the sea has a fascinating, treacherous intelligence. The mountains lie about like huge ruminants, their broad backs awful to look upon, but safe to handle. The sea smooths its silver scales until you cannot see their joints, — but their shining is that of a snake's belly, after all.
Page 3 - Show me a man who cares no more for one place than another, and I will show you in that same person one who loves nothing but himself.
Page 133 - The tossing hemlocks hold the eagles' nests ; By these fair plains the mountain circle screens, And feeds with streamlets from its dark ravines, — True to their home, these faithful arms shall toil To crown with peace their own untainted soil ; And, true to God, to freedom, to mankind, If her chained bandogs Faction shall unbind, These stately forms, that bending even now Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough, Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land, The same stern iron in the same...
Page 169 - Half-way up the stairs it stands,. And points and beckons with its hands From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — " Forever — never ! Never — Forever...
Page 171 - Forever — never ! Never — forever !" From that chamber, clothed in white, The bride came forth on her wedding night : There, in that silent room below, The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair,— " Forever — never ! Never — forever...
Page 171 - Was heard the old clock on the stair, — ' Forever — never ! Never — forever ! ' All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, ' Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? ' As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply, — ' Forever — never ! Never — forever...
Page 38 - EVERY state, and almost every county, of New England, has its Roaring Brook, — a mountain streamlet, overhung by woods, impeded by a mill, encumbered by fallen trees, but ever racing, rushing, roaring down through gurgling gullies, and filling the forest with its delicious sound and freshness ; the drinking-place of homereturning herds ; the mysterious haunt of squirrels and blue-jays ; the sylvan retreat of schoolgirls, who frequent it on Summer holidays, and mingle...

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