Promenades Littéraires: 6. série, Volume 6

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Merser cvre de France, 1926 - American literature - 238 pages
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Page 83 - 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 54 - Where Nature's ancient forests grow, . "And mingled laurel never fades, "My heart is fixed; — and I must go 'To die among my native shades." He spoke, and to the western springs, (His gown discharged, his money spent, His blanket tied with yellow strings,) The shepherd of the forest went.
Page 72 - Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty!
Page 46 - A crime it is, therefore in bliss you may not hope to dwell; But unto you I shall allow the easiest room in hell.
Page 33 - Je remplace la mélancolie par le courage, le doute par la certitude, le désespoir par l'espoir, la méchanceté par le bien, les plaintes par le devoir, le scepticisme par la foi, les sophismes par la froideur du calme et l'orgueil par la modestie.
Page 75 - Oh ! many are the Poets that are sown By Nature ; men endowed with highest gifts, The vision and the faculty divine ; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse...
Page 46 - You sinners are, and such a share As sinners may expect, Such you shall have; for I do save None but mine own elect. Yet to compare your sin with their, Who lived a longer time, I do confess yours is much less, Though every sin's a crime.
Page 57 - Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
Page 72 - OH fairest of the rural maids ! Thy birth was in the forest shades ; Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, Were all that met thine infant eye. Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, Were ever in the sylvan wild ; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face. The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks ; Thy step is as the wind, that weaves Its playful way among the leaves. Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen ;...
Page 70 - Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour. Glide softly to thy rest then ; Death should come Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, As light winds wandering through groves of bloom Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain ; And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.

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