Works, Том 13

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1892
 

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Стр. 413 - Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, 'I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont — and I will swim this here.
Стр. 319 - Enjoyed the peace your valor won. Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies. > Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.
Стр. 73 - One mingling flood of braided light, — The red that fires the Southern rose, With spotless white from Northern snows, And spangled o'er its azure, see The sister stars of Liberty...
Стр. 400 - AH Clemence ! when I saw thee last Trip down the Rue de Seine, And turning, when thy form had past, I said, "We meet again," — I dreamed not in that idle glance Thy latest image came, And only left to memory's trance A shadow and a name. The few strange words my lips had taught Thy timid voice to speak, Their gentler signs, which often brought Fresh roses to thy cheek, The trailing of thy long loose hair Bent o'er my couch of pain, All, all returned, more sweet, more fair; O had we met again!
Стр. 44 - Damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q.! Strange is the gift that I owe to you; Such a gift as never a king Save to daughter or son might bring, — All my tenure of heart and hand, All my title to house and land; Mother and sister and child and wife And joy and sorrow and death and life! What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered No...
Стр. 76 - Up with our banner bright, Sprinkled with starry light, Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, While through the sounding sky Loud rings the Nation's cry, — UNION AND LIBERTY ! ONE EVERMORE!
Стр. 44 - Who the painter was none may tell, — One whose best was not over well; Hard and dry, it must be confessed, Flat as a rose that has long been pressed...
Стр. 48 - What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered No, When forth the tremulous question came That cost the maiden her Norman name, And under the folds that look so still The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill? Should I be I, or would it be One tenth another, to nine tenths me?
Стр. 267 - From his mild throng of worshippers released, Our Concord Delphi sends its chosen priest, Prophet or poet, mystic, sage, or seer, By every title always welcome here. Why that ethereal spirit's frame describe ? You know the race-marks of the Brahmin tribe, — The spare, slight form, the sloping...
Стр. 203 - I come not here your morning hour to sadden, A limping pilgrim, leaning on his staff, — I, who have never deemed it sin to gladden This vale of sorrows with a wholesome laugh.

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