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Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters, Chapter
10: a New nation (search)
Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters, Bibliographic note. (search)
Bliss Perry, The American spirit in lierature: a chronicle of great interpreters, Index. (search)
Earlier poems. The Madonna di San Sisto. [These verses, written and published at the age of nineteen, are here preserved, partly from their association with my dear old friend and college teacher, Professor Longfellow, who liked them well enough to include them in his Estray, in 1847.] look down into my heart, Thou holy Mother, with thy holy Son! Read all my thoughts, and bid the doubts depart, And all the fears be done. I lay my spirit bare, O blessed ones! beneath your wondrous ey
e impression cease! Still may the dark eyes whisper, “Courage!
On!” The mild eyes murmur, “Peace!”
[These three hymns were written at the age of twenty-two, and were published anonymously in a collection edited by my friends Samuel Longfellow and Samuel Johnson.
They are here inserted mainly because they have secured for themselves a semblance of permanent vitality in hymn-books, and are not always correctly printed.] I.
I will arise and go unto my father. To Thine eternal
Poems from Thalatta. [The two poems which follow are from a volume called Thalatta; a book for the sea-side, edited by my friend Samuel Longfellow and myself in 1853.] I. Calm. 'T is a dull, sullen day,--the dull beach o'er In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows; Along each tiny crest that nears the shore A line of soft green shadow rises, glides, and goes. The tide recedes,--the flat smooth beach grows bare, More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair, As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears. What channel needs our faith except the eyes? God leaves no spot of earth unglorified; Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise; New beauties dawn before the old have died. Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power Who holds these faint soft shadows in His hand; Believe and live, and know that hour by hour Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand. II. the morning mist. The mist that like a dim soft pall was lying, Mingling the
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Carlyle's laugh and other surprises,
VIII: 's Emerson (search)