The Poetical Works of William Cullen BryantD. Appleton, 1903 - 418 من الصفحات |
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الصفحة liv
... , Miss Joanna Baillie , Mary Howett , Cobden , Bright , Fox , and many other men of mark in literature and art . He returned home in November . 1846 . Though Mr. Bryant had had leisure to write liv CHRONOLOGY OF BRYANT'S LIFE .
... , Miss Joanna Baillie , Mary Howett , Cobden , Bright , Fox , and many other men of mark in literature and art . He returned home in November . 1846 . Though Mr. Bryant had had leisure to write liv CHRONOLOGY OF BRYANT'S LIFE .
الصفحة 12
... bright sun Grow dim in heaven ? or , in their far blue arch , Sparkle the crowd of stars , when day is done , Less brightly ? when the dew - lipped Spring comes on , Breathes she with airs less soft , or scents the sky With flowers less ...
... bright sun Grow dim in heaven ? or , in their far blue arch , Sparkle the crowd of stars , when day is done , Less brightly ? when the dew - lipped Spring comes on , Breathes she with airs less soft , or scents the sky With flowers less ...
الصفحة 13
... the night , But smote his brother down in the bright day , And he who felt the wrong , and had the might , His own avenger , girt himself to slay ; Beside the path the unburied carcass lay ; The shepherd THE AGES . 13.
... the night , But smote his brother down in the bright day , And he who felt the wrong , and had the might , His own avenger , girt himself to slay ; Beside the path the unburied carcass lay ; The shepherd THE AGES . 13.
الصفحة 17
... bright lap the Etrurian vales detain , Sweet , as when winter storms have ceased to chide And all the new - leaved woods , resounding wide , Send out wild hymns upon the scented air . Lo ! to the smiling Arno's classic side The emulous ...
... bright lap the Etrurian vales detain , Sweet , as when winter storms have ceased to chide And all the new - leaved woods , resounding wide , Send out wild hymns upon the scented air . Lo ! to the smiling Arno's classic side The emulous ...
الصفحة 18
... Trees waved , and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest ; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume , and the gaunt wolf yelled near . XXVIII . And where his willing waves yon bright blue 18 POEMS .
... Trees waved , and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest ; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume , and the gaunt wolf yelled near . XXVIII . And where his willing waves yon bright blue 18 POEMS .
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amid autumn beauty behold beneath bird bloom blossoms blue boughs breath bright brook brow Bryant's contributions calm clouds Cummington dark death deep dost dream dwell earth edition eyes fair flowers forest G. P. Putnam's Sons gathered gaze gentle glorious glory Godwin's Graham's Magazine grave green hand hast hear heart heaven hills hour Hymn land leaves light Literary Gazette look maiden mighty morning mountain murmur night North American Review o'er Parke Godwin passed pleasant poems poet published R. H. Dana River rock round Samuel Osgood shade shalt shining shore sight silent sleep smile snow soft Song sound spring stars stream summer sweet tears Thanatopsis thee thine thou art trees United States Literary vale Verplanck voice walk wandering waters William Cullen Bryant William Leggett wind woods written in Roslyn York Ledger York Mirror York Review youth
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 20 - The hills Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.
الصفحة 26 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way...
الصفحة lxxx - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image.
الصفحة 92 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy Dearth the lovely ones again.
الصفحة lxxxi - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
الصفحة 81 - Written on thy works I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die; but see again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms.
الصفحة xxxiii - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
الصفحة 81 - God ! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its...
الصفحة lxxxi - So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
الصفحة lxxx - Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.