Coplas De Manrique (From The Spanish) (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
O let the soul her slumbers break,Let thought be quickened, and awake;Awake to seeHow soon this life is past and ...
O let the soul her slumbers break,Let thought be quickened, and awake;Awake to seeHow soon this life is past and ...
From the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like spanOf the sky, I see the white gleam of ...
Stream of my fathers! sweetly stillThe sunset rays thy valley fill;Poured slantwise down the long defile,Wave, wood, and spire beneath ...
Have you heard tell the news?The Earl of Leicester has turned traitor,And at Orwell has certainly landed.He has fleeced the ...
Regard the capture here, 0 Janus-faced,As double as the hands that twist this glass.Such eves at search or rest you ...
ORIGIN OF THE SERPENT.Ahti, living on the island,Near the Kauko-point and harbor,Plowed his fields for rye and barley,Furrowed his extensive ...
Under the day-long sun there is life and mirth In the working earth, And the wonderful moon shines bright Through the soft spring night, The innocent flowers in the limitless woods are springing Far and away With the sound and the perfume of May, And ever up from the south the happy birds are winging, The waters glitter and leap and play While the grey hawk soars. But far in an open glade of the forest set Where the rapid plunges and roars, Is a ruined fort with a name that men forget,— A shelterless pen With its broken palisade, Behind it, musket in hand, Beyond message or aid In this savage heart of the wild, Mere youngsters, grown in a moment to men, Grim and alert and arrayed, The comrades of Daulac stand. Ever before them, night and day, The rush and skulk and cry Of foes, not men but devils, panting for prey; Behind them the sleepless dream Of the little frail-walled town, far away by the plunging stream, Of maiden and matron and child, With ruin and murder impending, and none but they To beat back the gathering horror Deal death while they may, And then die. Day and night they have watched while the little plain Grew dark with the rush of the foe, but their host Broke ever and melted away, with no boast But to number their slain; And now as the days renew Hunger and thirst and care Were they never so stout, so true, Press at their hearts; but none Falters or shrinks or utters a coward word, Though each setting sun Brings from the pitiless wild new hands to the Iroquois horde, And only to them despair. Silent, white-faced, again and again Charged and hemmed round by furious hands, Each for a moment faces them all and stands In his little desperate ring; like a tired bull moose Whom scores of sleepless wolves, a ravening pack, Have chased all night, all day Through the snow-laden woods, like famine let loose; And he turns at last in his track Against a wall of rock and stands at bay; Round him with terrible sinews and teeth of steel They charge and recharge; but with many a furious plunge and wheel, Hither and thither over the trampled snow, He tosses them bleeding and torn; Till, driven, and ever to and fro Harried, wounded, and weary grown, His mighty strength gives way And all together they fasten upon him and drag him down. So Daulac turned him anew With a ringing cry to his men In the little raging forest glen, And his terrible sword in the twilight whistled and slew. And all his comrades stood With their backs to the pales, and fought Till their strength was done; The thews that were only mortal flagged and broke Each struck his last wild stroke, And they fell one by one, And the world that had seemed so good Passed like a dream and was naught. And then the great night came With the triumph-songs of the foe and the flame Of the camp-fires. Out of the dark the soft wind woke, The song of the rapid rose alway And came to the spot where the comrades lay, Beyond help or care, With none but the red men round them To gnash their teeth and stare. All night by the foot of the mountain The little town lieth at rest, The sentries are peacefully pacing; And neither from East nor from West Is there rumour of death or of danger; None dreameth tonight in his bed That ruin was near and the heroes That met it and stemmed it are dead. But afar in the ring of the forest, Where the air is so tender with May And the waters are wild in the moonlight, They lie in their silence of clay. The numberless stars out of heaven Look down with a pitiful glance; And the lilies asleep in the forest Are closed like the lilies of France.(Archibald Lampman)
BLUE, the wreaths of smoke, like drooping bannersFrom the flaming battlements of sunsetHung suspended; and within his whareHipe, last of ...
October 14: 1066'Gyrth, is it dawn in the sky that I see? or is all the sky blood?Heavy and sore ...
August 13: 1704 Oft hast thou acted thy part, My country, worthily thee! Lifted ...
Now it was clear to every ShadeThat some great wonder was before them,As Tom upon the palisadeEmptied, as fast as ...
By the Nile, the sacred river,I can see the captive hordes,Strain beneath the lash and quiverAt the long papyrus cords,While ...
Time-morningA half-point Nor'ard from the West,A bluish-tinted spot of light,Now deep below, ...
The beautiful spring delights me well, When flowers and leaves are growing;And it pleases my heart to hear the swell ...
Now when, beneath the riotous drinking,The witches found the liquor sinkingSo low their ladles couldn't reach it,The blacksmith with a ...
On a fateful day, an unlucky time,Unannounced, it may happen thus:Stifling, blacker still than a monasteryUtter madness descends on us.Bitter ...
According to the witches' plan,All life whose blood did not run trueMust be excluded from the brew;Each earthly thing from ...
The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet. The sun still shines ...
For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk ...
Light up your pipe again, old chum, and sit awhile with me; I've got to watch the bannock bake -- ...
Her little hot room looked over the bay Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms, And there she would lie ...
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