Epistles, Odes, and Other Poems

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James Carpenter, 1806 - 341 páginas
 

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Página 305 - FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Página 286 - I KNEW, by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, " If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here...
Página 310 - In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed...
Página 307 - There is not a breath the blue wave to curl, But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Página 178 - I must decline, as inapplicable to myself, any share in the personal emoluments which may be indispensably included in a permanent provision for the executive department...
Página 70 - My lips have breath'd you many a lie ; And who, with such delights in view, Would lose them, for a lie or two ? Nay, — look not thus, with brow reproving; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, This world would be in strange confusion. If ladies...
Página 39 - They made her a grave, too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true ; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. " And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear ; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footstep of Death is near...
Página 40 - And the boat return'd no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp. To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, And paddle their white canoe ! TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL.
Página 210 - The weary statesman for repose hath fled From halls of council to his negro's shed, Where blest he woos some black Aspasia's grace. And dreams of freedom in his slave's embrace...
Página 4 - Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam, And smiles them into tranquil sleep ! Oh ! such a blessed night as this, I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss Upon the moon-bright scenery here! The sea is like a silvery lake, And, o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it feared to wake The slumber of the silent tides...

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