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amid arms beauty behold beneath blessed bliss breast breath bright calm child close clouds comes dark dead death deep delight doth dreams earth eyes face fair fall fear feel feet flowers Frank gaze gentle glad gleam glide grave green grief hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hills holy hope hour human hush innocence lake leave lies light living lonely look morn mortal mother mountains mournful Nature never night o'er once pass peace prayer Priest rest round sail seems seen ship side silent sing sleep smile soft solitude song soon sorrow soul sound speak spirit spring stand stars sweet tears thee things thou thought touch unto voice walk waves weep wild wings
Page 407 - A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun ; A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : Long had I watched the glory moving on, O'er the still radiance of the lake below ; Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, E'en in its very motion there was rest ; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Page 231 - ... of thy desert regardless of foes. Thy bold antlers call on the hunter afar, With a haughty defiance to come to the war ! No outrage is war to a creature like thee ! The bugle-horn fills thy wild spirit with glee, As thou bearest thy neck on the wings of the wind, And the laggardly gaze-hound is toiling behind. In the beams of thy forehead that glitter with death — In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath...
Page 228 - Magnificent creature ! so stately and bright ! In the pride of thy spirit pursuing thy flight; For what hath the child of the desert to dread, Wafting up his own mountains that far-beaming head ; Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale .' — Hail ! king of the wild and the beautiful! — hail! Hail ! idol divine! whom nature hath borne O'er a hundred hill-tops since the mists of the morn, Whom the pilgrim lone wandering on mountain and moor, As the vision glides by him, may...
Page 223 - Those wandering veins of heavenly blue That stray along thy forehead fair, Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair? Oh, can that light and airy breath Steal from a being doomed to death; Those features to the grave be sent In sleep thus mutely eloquent? Or art thou, what thy form would seem, The phantom of a blessed dream?