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angel arms BARTOLOMÉ beautiful birds blessed blue breath bright child CHISPA clouds comes Count CRUZADO dance dark dead Death deep DON CARLOS dost dream earth Enter eyes face fair faith fall father fear feel fields flowers FRANCISCO gave gentle Gipsy girl give gold golden grave green hand hast hear heard heart heaven holy hopes hour HYPOLITO land LARA leaves light lips live look maiden midnight morning never night once PADRE CURA pass play poor Pray prayer PRECIOSA rest ring rise river round SCENE shadows shalt silent silver sing sleep soft song soul sound speak spirit stand star stood strong sweet Take tears tell thee thine things thou art thought trees VICTORIAN village voice wait wall wave wild wind woods youth
Página 242 - Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each, burning deed and thought.
Página 14 - WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight; Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more...
Página 20 - Flowers ; In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things.
Página 269 - THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!
Página 4 - I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above ; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes.
Página 5 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Página 186 - And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.
Página 178 - And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, 'Death !' was the helmsman's hail, 'Death without quarter...
Página 38 - O what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear.
Página 266 - Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet ! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem As the river of a dream.