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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
1 MANHATTAN’S streets I saunter’d, pondering, On time, space, reality—on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. 2 After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence; Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that suits immortality.
"'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before." Campbell, . DEDICATION.
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere-- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake...
FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON. SCENE 1: ENTER CYPRIAN, DRESSED AS A STUDENT; CLARIN AND MOSCON AS POOR SCHOLARS, WITH BOOKS.
Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought, Through contemplation of those goodly sights, And glorious images in heaven wrought, Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights Do kindle love in high-conceited sprights; I fain to tell the things that...
In a huge cloud of mountain hue The sun sets dark nor shudders through One single beam to shine again Tis night already in the lane The settled clouds in ridges lie And some swell mountains calm and high Clouds...
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv’d glow’r, Far south the lift, Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r, Or whirling drift: Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, Poor Labour sweet...
"Heigho!" yawned one day King Francis, "Distance all value enhances. When a man's busy, why, leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy. Here we've got peace; and aghast...
1 WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan! Head from the mother’s bowels drawn! Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and lip only one! Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown! helve produced from a little seed sown! Resting the grass amid and...
did you observe the Black Canon pass, And did you observe his frown? He goeth to say the midnight mass, In holy St. Edmond's town. He goeth to sing the burial chaunt, And to lay the wandering sprite, Whose shadowy,...
1 I SING the Body electric; The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul.
Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one Who staggers forth into the air and sun From the dark chamber of a mortal fever, Bewildered, and incapable, and ever Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain Of usual shapes, till the...
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns, What means this tumult in a vestal's veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with thyme, The goats with the green leaves of budding Spring, Are saturated not--nor Love with tears.--VIRGIL'S "Gallus".
Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee, With merry-making eyes and jocund smiles, Thou gazest at the painted tiles, Whose figures grace, With many a grotesque form and face. The ancient chimney of thy nursery!
Wandering by the river's edge, I love to rustle through the sedge And through the woods of reed to tear Almost as high as bushes are.
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the World, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, Heavenly...
"I cannot but remember such things were, And were most dear to me." 'Macbeth' When slow Disease, with all her host of Pains, Chills the warm tide, which flows along the veins; When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing, And...
'Twas now the noon of night, and all was still, Except a hapless Rhymer and his quill.
Who would not laugh, if Lawrence hired to grace His costly canvas with each flattered face, Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush, Saw cits grow Centaurs underneath his brush? Or, should some limner join, for show or sale,...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains!
January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER. Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove, The Herald-child, king of Arcadia And all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet love Having been interwoven, modest May Bore Heaven's dread Supreme.
Descend, ye Nine!
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