Early Prose Writings of James Russell Lowell

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J. Lane, 1902 - 248 pages
 

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Page 86 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Page 144 - My soul, like to a ship in a black storm, Is driven I know not whither.
Page 87 - Lay a garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!
Page 94 - ON A GIRDLE. THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done.
Page 90 - Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee, And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
Page 174 - As I stole nearer, Invited by the melody, I saw This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, With strains of strange variety and harmony, Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds.
Page 93 - The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield, Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore: I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.
Page 204 - When my first fire knew no adulterate incense, Nor I no way to flatter, but my fondness, In all the bravery my friends could show me, In all the faith my innocence could give me, In the best language my true tongue could tell me, And all the broken sighs my sick heart lent me, I sued, and served.
Page 94 - Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; Listen for dear honour's sake, Goddess of the silver lake, Listen and save! Listen, and appear to us, In name of great Oceanus. By the earthshaking Neptune's mace, And Tethys...
Page 114 - Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea Loves to have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind, Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack, And his rapt ship run on her side so low, That she drinks water, and her keel ploughs air.

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