Poems ... Reprinted from the American Octavo Edition, Volume 2

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Hilliard, Gray, Little, and Wilkins., 1827

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Page 215 - And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 266 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. And stars to set — but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! THE LOST PLEIAD.
Page 181 - Yet more, the Depths have more ! — What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.
Page 265 - Death ! Day is for mortal care, Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ; But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth...
Page 305 - Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" —And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.
Page 258 - Their graves are severed far and wide, By mount, and stream, and sea. The same fond mother bent at night O'er each fair sleeping brow ; She had each folded flower in sight — Where are those dreamers now ? One, 'midst the forests of the West, By a dark stream is laid — The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.
Page 215 - Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land ? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ; They have left unstained what there they found, — Freedom to worship God.
Page 284 - And men stood breathless in their dread. And baffled in their skill — But One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea,
Page 289 - Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bathed in a flood as of burning gold.
Page 319 - Now in thy youth, beseech of Him Who giveth, upbraiding' not; That his light in thy heart become not dim, And his love be unforgot ; And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be, Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee...

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