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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
sadly sweet. O friend! if thought and sense avail not To know thee henceforth as thou art, That all is well with thee forever I trust the instincts of my heart. Thine be the quiet habitations, Thine the green pastures, blossom-sown, And smiles of saintly recognition, As sweet and tenders thy own. Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow To meet us, but to thee we come, With thee we never can be strangers, And where thou art must still be home. 1863. Bryant on his Birthday. Mr. Bryant's seventieth birthday, November 3, 1864, was celebrated by a festival to which these verses were sent. we praise not now the poet's art, The rounded beauty of his song; Who weighs him from his life apart Must do his nobler nature wrong. Not for the eye, familiar grown With charms to common sight denied,— The marvellous gift he shares alone With him who walked on Rydal-side; Not for rapt hymn nor woodland lay, Too grave for smiles, too sweet for tears; We speak his praise who wears to-da
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
hy ‘Leisure Hours’more prized by far Than those now spent in Party's wordy war. William Leggett, Esq., of the Post, a gentleman of good talents, favorably known as the editor of the Newl York Critic, etc. And last, not least, thou!— now nurtured in the land Where thy bold-hearted fathers long ago Rocked Freedorn's cradle, till its infant hand Strangled the serpent fierceness of its foe,— Thou, whose clear brow in early time was fanned By the soft airs which from Castalia flow! William C. Bryant, Esq., well known to the public at large as a poet of acknowledged excellence; and as a very dull editor to the people of New York.— Where art thou now? feeding with hickory ladle The curs of Faction with thy daily twaddle! Men have looked up to thee, as one to be A portion of our glory; and the light And fairy hands of woman beckoned thee On to thy laurel guerdon; and those bright And gifted spirits, whom the broad blue sea Hath shut from thy communion, bid thee, ‘Write,’