American Literature: And Other Papers

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Ticknor, 1887 - 315 pages
 

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Page 265 - For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue.
Page 262 - I, long before the blissful hour arrives, Would chant in lonely peace, the spousal verse Of this great consummation; and, by words Which speak of nothing more than what we are, Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep Of death, and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures...
Page 296 - Though love repine and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply : ' 'Tis man's perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die.
Page 271 - O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?
Page 171 - On this question of principle, while actual suffering was yet afar off, they raised their flag against a power, to which, for purposes of foreign conquest and subjugation, Rome, in the height of her glory, is not to be compared; a power which has dotted over the surface of the whole globe with her possessions and military posts, whose morning drum-beat, following the sun, and keeping company with the hours, circles the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England.
Page 40 - A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller betwixt life and death. The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.
Page 291 - 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 288 - ... yet could once arrive, As they went or they returned, At the house where these sojourned. Sometimes their strong speed they slacken, Though they are not overtaken; In sleep their jubilant troop is near,-- I tuneful voices overhear; It may be in wood or waste,-- At unawares 't is come and past.
Page 67 - All things are known to the soul. It is not to be surprised by any communication. Nothing can be greater than it. Let those fear and those fawn who will. The soul is in her native realm, and it is wider than space, older than time, wide as hope, rich as love. Pusillanimity and fear she refuses with a beautiful scorn . they are not for her who putteth on her coronation robes, and goes out through universal love to universal power.
Page 297 - THY trivial harp will never please Or fill my craving ear; Its chords should ring as blows the breeze, Free, peremptory, clear. No jingling serenader's art, Nor tinkle of piano strings, Can make the wild blood start In its mystic springs. The kingly bard Must smite the chords rudely and hard, As with hammer or with mace; That they may render back Artful thunder, which conveys Secrets of the solar track, Sparks of the supersolar blaze.

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