The Poetry of Travelling in the United States

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S. Colman, 1838 - 444 pages
 

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Page 158 - Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, And the spirit shall return to God who gave it.
Page 315 - Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky ? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Page 150 - Thy shades are more soothing, thy sunlight more dear, Than descend on less privileged earth: For the Good and the Great, in their beautiful prime, Through thy precincts have musingly trod, As they girded their spirits, or deepened the streams That make glad the fair City of God. "Farewell! be thy destinies onward and bright! To thy children the lesson still give, With freedom to think, and with patience to bear, And for right ever bravely to live. Let not moss-covered Error moor thee at its side,...
Page 161 - Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave. And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
Page 159 - Here are the lofty oak, the beech, that " wreaths its old fantastic roots so high," the rustling pine, and the drooping willow ; — the tree that sheds its pale leaves with every autumn, a fit emblem of our own transitory bloom ; and the evergreen with its perennial shoots, instructing us, that " the wintry blast of death kills not the buds of virtue.
Page 42 - Meeting. Dost thou love silence deep as that " before the winds were made " ? go not out into the wilderness, descend not into the profundities of the earth; shut not up thy casements; nor pour wax into the little cells of thy ears, with little-faith'd self-mistrusting Ulysses. — Retire with me into a Quakers
Page 199 - Mother, how still the baby lies ! I cannot hear his breath ; I cannot see his laughing eyes — They tell me this is death. My little work I thought to bring, And sat down by his bed, And pleasantly I tried to sing — They hushed me — he is dead. They say that he again will rise, More beautiful than now, — That God will bless him in the skies— Oh, mother, tell me how...
Page 160 - ... instant, to pass from the confines of death to the bright and balmy regions of life. Below us flows the winding Charles, with its rippling current, like the stream of time hastening to the ocean of eternity. In the distance, the city, — at once the object of our admiration and our love,— rears its proud eminences, its glittering spires, its lofty towers, its graceful mansions, its curling smoke, its crowded haunts of business and pleasure, which speak to the eye, and yet leave a noiseless...
Page 42 - ... own spirit in stillness, without being shut out from the consolatory faces of thy species; would'st thou be alone, and yet accompanied; solitary, yet not desolate; singular, yet not without some to keep thee in countenance; - a unit in aggregate; a simple in composite: - come with me into a Quakers
Page 170 - God; everywhere we see thy love. Creation, in all its length and breadth, in all its depth and height, is the manifestation of thy Spirit, and without thee the world were dark and dead.

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