Songs of the Affections

E.H. Butler & Company, 1866 - 125 pages

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Page 76 - The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay; "Into these glassy eyes put light; — be still! keep down thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire: Give me back him for whom I strove, — for whom my blood was shed. Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy head!
Page 74 - They might have chained him as before that stony form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. "Father!
Page 103 - And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being...
Page 55 - Clasp me a little longer on the brink Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress; And when this heart hath ceased to beat — oh! think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than human friendship just. Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs — when I am laid in dust?
Page 95 - ... dreaming, Under young leaves that shook with melodies ! My home ! — the spirit of its love is breathing In every wind that plays across my track, From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back. There am I loved — there...
Page 103 - SPIRIT-LAND ! thou land of dreams ! A world thou art of mysterious gleams, Of startling voices, and sounds at strife, A world of the dead in the hues of life.
Page 73 - A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead!
Page 79 - Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.
Page 72 - Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransom'd man this day : Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way.
Page 115 - STRANGER'S HEART. THE stranger's heart ! Oh ! wound it not ! A yearning anguish is its lot ; In the green shadow of thy tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee. Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves Glad music round thy household eaves ; To him that sound hath sorrow's tone — The stranger's heart is with his own. Thou think'st thy children's laughing play A lovely sight at fall of day ; — Then are the stranger's thoughts oppressed — His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.

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