The Real America in Romance, Volume 8

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Wm. H. Wise, 1907

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Page 202 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Page 26 - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Page 144 - STERN Daughter of the Voice of God ! O Duty ! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe, From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
Page 380 - Master of human destinies am I ! Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait Cities and fields I walk: I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate! If sleeping wake: If feasting rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate...
Page 420 - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Page 224 - Deep in the unpruned forest, midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington? Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? XCVII.
Page 288 - Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more : Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Page 399 - The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
Page 49 - WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with' an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods, Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage and full of grief.
Page 179 - Europe is given a prey to sterner fates, And writhes in shackles ; strong the arms that chain To earth her struggling multitude of states ; She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain Against them, but might cast to earth the train That trample her, and break their iron net...

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