The Culprit Fay, and Other Poems

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Van Norden and King, 1847 - 92 pages

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Page 90 - When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land.
Page 10 - A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cronest : She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below...
Page 90 - To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory ! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the...
Page 12 - They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullein's velvet screen; Some on the backs of beetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rocked about in the evening breeze; Some from the hum-bird's downy nest — They had driven him out by elfin power, And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast. Had...
Page 40 - Round the wild witch-hazel tree. The beetle guards our holy ground, He flies about the haunted place, And if mortal there be found, He hums in his ears and flaps his face.
Page 17 - And turned him round in act to go. The way is long, he cannot fly, His soiled wing has lost its power, And he winds adown the mountain high, For many a sore and weary hour. Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern...
Page 33 - Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, Were streamers of the northern light; Its curtain's light and lovely flush Was of the morning's rosy blush ; And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, The white and feathery fleece of noon.
Page 14 - Your jailer a spider huge and grim, Amid the carrion bodies to lie, Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly : These it had been your lot to bear, Had a stain been found on the earthly fair.
Page 31 - And flame-shot tongues around him played, And near him many a fiendish eye Glared with a fell malignity, And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, Came screaming on his startled ear.
Page 9 - Tis the middle watch of a summer's night,— The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue.

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