The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier

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Houghton, Mifflin Company, 1894 - American poetry - 542 pages
 

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Page 399 - All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,— A universe of sky and snow!
Page 47 - Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me! That I the Judge's bride might be! He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat...
Page 397 - Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil...
Page 397 - All as God wills, who wisely heeds To give or to withhold, And knoweth more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told. Enough that blessings undeserved Have marked my erring track ; That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved His chastening turned me back ; That more and more a Providence Of love is understood, Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good...
Page 187 - But let its humbled sons, instead, From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead, In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains ; A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. All else is gone ; from those great eyes The soul has fled : When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead...
Page 48 - The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still. "A form more fair, a face more sweet Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. "And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.
Page 287 - We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell; Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell; We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves, From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves!
Page 403 - Or from the shade of saintly palms, Or silver reach of river calms, Do those large eyes behold me still? With me one little year ago: — The chill weight of the winter snow For months upon her grave has lain; And now, when summer south-winds blow And brier and harebell bloom again...
Page 400 - Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road ; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. A prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!
Page 408 - Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — "Because, you see, I love you!" Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing! He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her, — because they love him.

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