In BohemiaPilot Publishing Company, 1886 - 97 pages |
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Amber Whale Australia battle of Flanders beauty Behold birds Bohemia Boston Boston Journal breast breath city streets clearest sight convict creed cried crime crown dead death Deed deep Dog Guard dramatic dream dreamer Earth a Cry Ensign Epps eyes with Love face flowers freedom glory glow golden grave grief hands hate hear heart hero human Innisfail JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY King KING'S MEN kiss land legend Liberty light lips lives look manly Moondyne narrative narrative poetry natural never noble novel nursling o'er O'Reilly's pain penal colony poems poet poetic poetry poor Queen romantic seed sing smile song sorrow soul spirit stand stirring story strength strong sweet swords tale tears Temple of Friendship tender things to-day toilers toiling touch our eyes tree true truth Uncle Ned's Vasse verse voice volume wait weak weird Western Australia word word-painters writes
Popular passages
Page 6 - NATIVE LAND. IT chanced to me upon a time to sail Across the Southern Ocean to and fro ; And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go. And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone, Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, And left us yearning still for lands unknown. And when we found one, — for 'tis soon to find In thousand-isled Cathay another isle, — For one short noon its treasures filled the...
Page 24 - A WHITE ROSE The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; Oh, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove. But I send you a cream-white rosebud, With a flush on its petal tips; For the love that is purest and sweetest Has a kiss of desire on the lips.
Page 6 - And so it was from isle to isle we passed, Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips; And when that all was tasted, then at last We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips. I learned from this there is no Southern land Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. Sick minds need change; but, when in health they stand 'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home agen.
Page 45 - I would fly to the wood's low rustle. And the meadow's kindly page. Let me dream as of old by the river, And be loved for the dream alway; For a dreamer lives forever, And a toiler dies in a day.
Page 28 - Levelling what we raised in haste; Doing what must be undone Ere content or love be won ! First across the gulf we cast Kite-borne threads, till lines are passed. And habit builds the bridge at last!
Page 67 - Till the smile leaves his mouth, and the ring leaves his laugh, And he shirks the bright headache you ask him to quaff; He grows formal with men, and with women polite, And distrustful of both when they're out of his sight...
Page 41 - ENSIGN EPPS, at the battle of Flanders, Sowed a seed of glory and duty, That flowers and flames in height and beauty Like a crimson lily with heart of gold, To-day, when the wars of Ghent are old, And buried as deep as their dead commanders. Ensign Epps was the color-bearer — No matter on which side, Philip or Earl ; Their cause was the shell — his deed was the pearl. Scarce more than a lad, he had been a sharer That day in the wildest work of the field. He was wounded and spent, and the fight...
Page 45 - Heart-weary of building and spoiling, And spoiling and building again. And I long for the dear old river, Where I dreamed my youth away ; For a dreamer lives forever, And a toiler dies in a day. I am sick of the showy seeming Of a life that is half a lie ; Of the faces lined with scheming In the throng that hurries by. From the sleepless thoughts...
Page 84 - ONCE in a lifetime, we may see the veil Tremble and lift, that hides symbolic things; The Spirit's vision, when the senses fail. Sweeps the weird meaning that the outlook brings. Deep in the midst of turmoil, it may be — A crowded street, a forum, or a field, — The soul inverts the telescope to see To-day's events in future's years revealed.
Page 85 - Now, see what Cato meant, what Brutus said. Hark ! the Athenians welcome Cimon home ! — How clear they are. those glimpses of the dead ! But we, hard toilers, we who plan and weave Through common days the web of common life, What word, alas ! shall teach us to receive The mystic meaning of our peace and strife ? Whence comes our symbol ? Surely God must speak ; No less than he can make us heed or pause : Self-seekers we, too busy or too weak To search beyond our daily lives and laws.